No promises
by Nadin4400
Summary: S3/AU Starts on Christmas Eve when Dean and Bela end up stuck in a haunted house, which Dean goes to investigate on Missouri's request. Injured!Dean. Snowstorm. Bickering. Strange visions. Dean's got only 6 months left. T for language/content. Ch 9 UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: No promises

**Summary**: The story starts on Christmas Eve when Dean and Bela end up stuck in a haunted house, which Dean goes to investigate on Missouri's request. Injured Dean. Snowstorm. Bickering. Strange visions. Dean has got only 6 months left.

**Spoilers**: Season 3 only. NO Season 4 spoilers

**Characters:** Dean, Sam, Bela, mentions and probably later appearance of Missouri. Can't say for sure now.

**Pairings**: Dean/Bela (um… who else?*wink*)

**Disclaimer**: One for all story! Do not own anything or anyone. The story was written for entertainment only.

**Author's Note**: I had serious problems with defining the timeline for this story as I'd like it to take place after "Fresh Blood" so that Dean and Bela were sort of enemies again after her joke with Gordon, and yet it was supposed to be Christmas time, which means it was sort of making "A very Supernatural Christmas" non-existent. I love this ep but I'm going to severely ruin the plot of S3 after 3x07. Play with me here, okay? It's just a fic after all.

Anyway, completely AU after "Fresh Blood". Dean's deal in, Bela's deal out. Supposedly, we don't know about it. I'm not going to mention it one way or another. Not in this story at least. Well, that's my initial intention.

Okay, now that all precautions are made… One more – it's just a try. Hope it's gonna work. I've been writing this one for quite a while already and I wasn't planning on positing it actually. It was just a way to keep my-_sleepy_-self occupied when I couldn't sleep well. So, we'll see…

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Bela pulled the car over to the shoulder in front of a century old iron fence covered with ivy and cut the engine. The sounds of Gloria Gaynor's inspirational "I will survive" died away together with soft purring. The air was fresh and cold when she got out. Her breath was coming out in small white puffs.

The house was exactly what Bela expected it to be. Obviously non-inhabited for quite a while and definitely not cared of, it still looked like what a queen dressed in shabby clothes would look like. There was unseen dignity about it, nobleness even. Something that would never allow anyone speak about it like about any other abandoned place.

From where she was standing Bela could see only the second floor – faded paint on the walls and white curtains on the windows – and a squeaky weathercock on the roof. It was rocking from side to side in the light breeze emitting dreadful sounds.

She straightened her jacket and tipped her chin high as if she really was a member of a Historical Heritage Society, or whatever was there indicated in the ID she took just in case her car drew unnecessary attention, and pushed the gate open. Rusted hinges attempted to resist not really wanting to let her inside but gave in at last. The gate wasn't locked, which didn't surprise her much. Reputation of the place was a much better security than any locks.

Steady staccato of her heels on the paved walkway was muffled by the thick layer of dry leaves that no one bothered to clean. For decades by the looks of it.

Wood stairs to the porch were not squeaky to Bela's surprise. And the front door _was_ locked in spite of her hopes. It wasn't a big problem though. As a member of Historical Heritage Society, whatever it was, she had a key.

Once inside, Bela hovered near the door for half a minute to give her eyes a chance to get accustomed to the semi-darkness of the hallway. The electricity was cut off, first of all because no one was paying the bills, and then, of course, as a safety measure to avoid accidental fire or something else nasty, although a lot of people claimed that they were seeing lights in the windows every now and then, which only added mystery to the dark past of the house.

Bela had a flashlight but she decided to use it only in case of emergency lest she be mistaken for the ghost. Right at the moment she didn't need it to see antique furniture, bronze girandoles and redwood panels on the walls anyway. Rich beauty and grace of the end of the XIX century.

The air was pretty musty but except for it nothing reminded of the extended emptiness of the place. The furniture wasn't cased and neither was it dusty, surprisingly. Probably because there was no way dust could get inside with all windows shut and only a few visitors in years, Bela guessed.

The house had been built in the late 80s of the XIX century and then slightly modified in the early XX century. That was all that Bela knew for sure so far, from documents and archives. Other than that… rumors and legends that no one ever proved. She was aware of most of them. And she didn't care much. She had a task to do and it was all that mattered.

Her lean fingers ran along finely carved railing of the staircase that led to the second floor.

"So, Mrs. Charleston, where do you keep that magic locket of yours?"

***

Sam pulled the car up at the backyard gate and stared thoughtfully at the red-tiled roof visible over the ivy-covered fence.

"Here?" Dean asked rather skeptically looking out the windshield. "You sure?"

Sam shrugged and reached into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a piece of paper with the address scrabbled hurriedly on it. He checked the name of the street on a faded metal plate and the number of the house, and nodded.

"That's the address Missouri gave me."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on his seat. His clenched teeth and unnatural paleness made Sam frown.

"Just the address?"

"Yeah, she asked to check it out and then we were disconnected. But that's… Missouri, you know. She never called before, and if she did now," Sam shrugged, "then it should be _something_, don't you think?"

Dean nodded slowly conceding his point. The place looked creepy nonetheless. He could barely see anything through the fence but the whole scenery – late afternoon, not dark yet but the sun was gone already; cool air that smelled like winter and trouble; abandoned manor; naked trees – reminded him of a horror movie with bad ending. Everything seemed empty and silent, although Dean decided that he wouldn't have been surprised to see a hundred of crows sitting on the knotty branches. That would so fit in with the overall picture.

Besides…

"You're not going to leave me here, dude, are you?" He turned to Sam, obviously panicking.

"I'll be right back, Dean," Sam promised patiently. Again. And then sighed with regret. "You're in no condition to ride," voicing the truth they both knew.

"Aw, come on!" Discomfort and foreboding of something not so bright didn't let Dean give up just like that anyway. "It's Christmas Eve tonight!"

"Exactly! Christmas!" Sam pointed out firmly. Left out the part about the _last_ Christmas and _only six months left_, and how really stupid it was to screw it all now. What was the point if they couldn't change anything now anyway? Besides, Dean's eternal damnation had become a forbidden topic for conversations lately. Family holidays were a forbidden topic for as long as Sam could remember. Unspoken agreement. And yet… "Not Halloween. You can't show up anywhere bleeding like that." He nodded towards Dean's shoulder making him wince. The jacket was hiding the wound but they both knew that it looked nasty. "Couldn't find a better time to get shot?"

Dean gasped. "The bullet ricocheted!" He exclaimed defensively. "It was an accident. And it's just a graze."

It wasn't just a graze though, he knew it. It felt worse, much worse but, firstly, he didn't want to make a fuss of it. It wasn't the first time he got shot after all, and probably not the last. And he knew he could handle it without fishing James Davidson's insurance from his backpack and coming up with some crappy "hunting accident" story in the local hospital. And, secondly, he didn't want to give Sam unnecessary reason to worry. The kid wasn't dealing all that well with the prospect of his bro's trip to hell in not so remote future.

But, seriously, the place was freaking him out, especially assuming that it was most likely occupied by only God knows what. Why would Missouri ask for their help otherwise? Not a single phone call in two years. She must have had a good reason to contact them now.

And, okay, as much as Dean hated to admit it, Sam was right. He was in no shape for any trips, no matter how short they promised to be.

"Get out," Sam ordered with feigned annoyance and then gave Dean a concerned once-over. "I'll only take our things from the motel and be right back, I promise."

"Whatever," Dean grumbled dragging himself rather ungracefully out of the car.

He hesitated to slam the door behind him though. Once cold air hit his face, the place became even less appealing. Dean watched it warily, listening intensely to the sounds that might come from inside, like howling of a hungry werewolf or blood-chilling moans of suffering souls trapped in that house for eternity for the sins Dean didn't want to know about.

Throbbing pain in his shoulder brought him back to reality, and suddenly the place lost its dark aura. If it hadn't been for Missouri's call he'd never suspect anything was wrong with the house. Anyway, his attitude was quickly replaced with the wish to get inside and take care of his wound before it drove him crazy.

"Dean?"

Wincing all the way through, Dean dove into the Impala and over the front seat to get his backpack from the backseat wondering how he managed not to pass out when he started seeing spots before his eyes, caused by nearly insufferable pain mainly. Yet, when he looked at Sam before slamming the door, a crooked smile was back on his lips.

"You know what?" He threw a quick look over the shoulder, "I wish it was Halloween. The decorations and everything… doesn't look like Christmas."

"Take care, man," Sam chuckled starting the car. "I'll be back soon."

"Grab some food!" Dean shouted after the Impala trying to sound casual. And anything but stumbled through the gate when dizziness suddenly overtook him.

Maybe it was not so bad idea to send Sam off so he could take care of himself without being nursed like a baby by his little bro and his sweet habit to take things worse than they really were, Dean thought. He wasn't a fragile little flower after all, and if he was going to die soon…

The train of his thought trailed off here.

He needed to take painkillers. Now! Knew he had something in the backpack but, hell, couldn't remember where or what it was. The pain in the shoulder dulled slightly, meaning it was no longer concentrated in one particular spot spreading gradually all over his body, which was now pulsating slowly. Dean could clearly imagine hundreds of little hearts instead of one, beating in unison in every part of him. The image made him sick and he shook his head to wave it away.

Walking through the back yard with blistering cold air biting at his cheeks made him feel better, cleared his thoughts considerably. It was interesting to look around. Back yard was back yard only by definition. In reality it turned out to be an orchard of some sort, or so it looked, and quite a big one, too. But then this house wasn't just an ordinary house in an ordinary suburb after all, so everything fitted just fine.

He paused half way to the house and glanced up to have a better look at it.

It didn't seem welcoming, but not quite hostile either. The sun was down, true, but Dean could have sworn that he could catch glimpses of last rays of light on the metal form of a weathercock. He wondered again, with curiosity now, what kind of a vision could Missouri possibly have being several hundred miles away from here, but nothing decent came to his mind, unless of course it was another poltergeist again. And, fine, it would have made sense if the place was inhabited. But it didn't look like anyone lived here for a while, so why bother then?

Dean hoped it wasn't a vengeful killing-oriented spirit because – face the truth! – he was a too easy prey himself at the moment. Actually, all he could think of was falling somewhere that wasn't cold ground and dozing off for a week or two, or more. It was something too luxurious to even start hoping for, but one was allowed to dream, right? It was Christmas Eve after all, the best time for wishes and miracles. So chances were that Santa would drag his fat self through the chimney and award Dean with strong tranquilizers for being good boy and helping old ladies cross the streets. He wasn't even going to brag about his other honors.

Slowly and carefully he descended down several rather steep stone steps to the backdoor, which was obviously leading to the basement or something else similar. Old lock, probably rusted, did not give in easily but Dean was persistent. Once inside, he groped his was through the room, tripping over one thing or another – it was dark to say what exactly these things were – and cursing silently under his breath. Dim light coming through the only small and unbelievably dirty window was far not enough to make his task easier.

The only good thing about it was that mental debating whether or not he should try and look for a flashlight distracted him from his pretty uncomfortable state. Not that he cared much, but he was curious to some degree. Wanted so badly to see what was there around him. But first things first. Right at the moment _the first_ thing was to make sure he wouldn't faint from pain, or blood loss, or both within five minutes. His t-shirt that was quickly getting soaked with blood started bothering Dean a long time ago, as much as anything could bother him at all with his thoughts too cloudy and muffled to concentrate on something particular for more than half a minute.

He climbed upstairs, stumbling and holding on to the wall, and sighed with relief when he found himself in a relative safety of the hallway.

Dean dropped the backpack to the floor and the sound of it landing onto the wood boards broke eerie silence. He leaned back against the wall then and exhaled loudly through his nose, feeling dizzy and unstable on his feet. But being inside sort of excluded the possibility of freezing to death somewhere in the middle of a backyard of what seemed to be the least visited place in the area, and wasn't it the best reason to cheer up a little bit?

Strangely loud thump of something onto the floor, or elsewhere downstairs gave Bela a start. She put jewelry box back to the shelf where she found it and tiptoed to the door, gun clutched tightly in her hand. Someone was down there. Bela could hear him – _her? them?_ – moving around the living room, supposedly, muttering something that she couldn't make out even in utter silence of the house.

She started making her way down as soundlessly as she could hoping it wasn't trouble in the flesh.

The footsteps down the staircase were impossible to miss even if whoever was the source of them was doing their best to move quietly. Dean, who was in the middle of going through his backpack in search for painkillers, strained himself and reached carefully for his gun, lest his movement be too noticeable. He kept on muttering something with frustration under his breath pretending he was absolutely unaware of a company. Hoped with all his heart – at strange as it was – that it truly was only a ghost. Dealing with it didn't require actual fight, which was way beyond his capability right now.

The steps were closing in, very human steps to his disappointment.

Dean counted to five in his mind praying not to pass out shamelessly any time soon and whirled around taking upright position, gun up and aiming right at the intruder's chest.

Bela stepped around the corner, eyes fixed on the dark form of a person standing on his knees near the couch in the living room. It wasn't a police-man like she half-expected, meaning trouble wasn't out of agenda. And it surprised her that there was something vaguely familiar about the figure although she couldn't say at once what made her think so.

The man was on his feet before she could blink. Soft _cling_ of his gun, followed closely by the _cling_ of hers, sounded almost deafening.

And then…

"You," they breathed out simultaneously: Bela – with surprise, Dean – with unmistakable annoyance.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Comments are welcome now :))

Hope you all had a fantastic holiday season!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** I know that the first chap was terribly short and not really informative. Promise that the following ones will be my-style long :))

Some hurt!, helpless! and confused!Dean ahead

* * *

**Chapter 2**

They glared at each other down the barrels of their guns for a little while, eyes flaring and jaws set tight.

"Dean," Bela drawled having nothing against being the first to break the silence since it felt utterly ridiculous and was taking them nowhere anyway. Gave him her best smile, all teeth, as if meeting Dean Winchester here was much better than anything she could ever have hoped for. And resisted a wish to giggle when it occurred to her that this kind of encounter – guns drawn and probably another fight coming – was the most natural for the two of them. "What a pleasant surprise!"

By this time Dean seemed to pull himself together.

"I wish I could say the same," he chuckled. "But lying is morally wrong, see. Not that I expect you to understand it," as an afterthought. "Anyway, even natural politeness doesn't let me voice such a terribly impossible thing."

"Natural politeness?" Bela brows arched expressively. "Whoever told you you have it was a hell of a liar himself." She informed him with mock sympathy, all _poor little misled Dean_.

Dean hemmed.

Come on! Say something, quick and sharp before she got that something was not right. But he had serious problems with even processing her words in his mind while trying to feverishly come up with a way to get rid of her, not quite caring about what she was doing here in the first place, or how she got here, or why. He would probably give a thought or two to her unexpected appearance some time later, Dean decided. Like when he was capable of thinking.

Bela took the pause as his inability to find a decent line, and moved on with her own. "What are you doing here, Dean?" Really, what? How could it be that they ran into each other in the least expected place ever? That was beyond her so far. "Squatting again?" She tilted her head. "Sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to look for another place. This one is not available."

There was no way on earth he would've ever missed this. "My, my, Bela! Your budget's finally running so low that you can't afford even the cheapest of all motels?" Dean shook his head. "You couldn't have found a better way to break my illusions about you even if you tried."

"You wish!" She snorted back. She was getting tired of holding her gun up now that it was obvious that neither of them was going to pull the trigger anyway, but was stubbornly determined to wait till he lowered his first. "Seriously, Dean, get out of here. I'm on business. Find yourself another place."

"No way! You get out of here. I'm working on a case," he announced.

"Really? What case?" Emerald green eyes were looking at him with genuine curiosity.

Yeah, good question! Where the hell was Sam and his _Missouri called me but we were disconnected_ explanation? Apparently, Dean couldn't handle it himself. He could barely handle the fact that Bela was multiplying in his eyes every once in a while forcing him to blink in order to restore single image.

"Oh, come on!" She rolled her eyes when he didn't answer. "Tell your story to somebody else." She paused considering. "Anyway, I got here first."

"No," Dean objected immediately. "I came here first."

He knew she was right, and he knew that she knew she was right. But really, it was Bela! If she said that the sun was rising in the east, he'd come up with whatever arguments he could find to prove that it was rising in the west simply out of urge to disagree. It was an instinct to say _right_ if she said _left,_ or _black_ to her _white_.

"I came from upstairs if you didn't notice," she pointed out, her voice sounded like she was talking to someone with serious mental problems.

Now they were arguing about who came from where! Great! What next?

"And I came from the basement," Dean shrugged, and this thoughtless movement made him start seeing spots. Bad idea. "So what?"

Bela giggled at his comment despite herself. She even lowered her weapon slightly. Didn't put it away for good, but the whole situation was steadily making her feel damn stupid.

"Don't you think it's symbolic in a way?"

"What?"

"All this coming from up and down thing." Bela waved her gun to enunciate her point. "Like a whole story of our lives in one particular situation." She caught his look full of misunderstanding and sighed. "Never mind, I'll explain it to you some other time using simple words and short sentences."

Dean scowled at her. Whatever she said – honestly, he didn't even try to pay attention – it definitely wasn't something nice. But then again, _nice_ and _Bela_ couldn't stand anywhere close, so everything was right here.

His pain grew worse. Now he not only needed painkillers. Taking them as soon as possible was quickly turning into a matter of life and death, with the key word _death_, or so he was feeling. All things considered, manipulating Bela out of his way became a number one priority all of a sudden. No way could he imagine living through the humiliation of…

He lost the train of his thought here. What was he going to think about again? Oh, crap! Seriously, he just wanted her out of here!

"So, Bela, don't you know what day is it today?" Curiously but still casually at the same time, like he was wondering but not really caring.

"Mm… Tuesday?"

"It's Christmas Eve," Dean explained patiently, like he wasn't sure she was mentally competent, or so his voice implied. Bela glowered darkly at him, or maybe more at the tone he was using, and raised her gun again. "What are you doing here on Christmas Eve?" He paused as if waiting for her to answer, and went on with his own conclusion when she didn't reply. "Oh, I see! Found no company to spend holidays with and decided to ruin it for someone instead? That's sad." He sighed hoping that pretended sympathy was a good ploy. Wondered somewhat absently how far he was from getting another bullet. Or ten. "What can be more depressing and miserable?"

Breaking into abandoned houses for Christmas maybe? But she held back this one.

"I fail to see how it can be any of your business, Dean."

"Well, you know, I was just thinking… Aren't you supposed to be decorating Christmas tree with all these cheques you've got for selling stolen goods? Could've bought yourself a company, too."

It was hard to say how much time had passed since Sam left or since he got inside, but it felt like eternity to Dean; like time had changed its normal pace and decided to stop for a while and wait for something. But he thanked mentally whoever was there to thank for the fact that it was getting dark enough for Bela not to see him clearly. He was so not going to ask her for help! Why was she still there anyway?

"I thought we agreed on my bankruptcy," she reminded him.

They did? When?

What the hell was this conversation about at all?

Dean could hardly remember the beginning of it. Dignity and self-esteem forgotten, he finally came to the point when a wish to pass out became stronger than the wish to save the face, or concern for any possible consequences. It was a miracle – and long years of practice – he managed to keep his voice level and casual and made it this far.

"Then why wouldn't you go and steal a couple of presents for yourself?" He offered willingly. "You could be a very good evil Santa's little elf. Ever thought about moving on to spoiling the lives of the entire population of the Earth?"

"And that would mean what? Unpaid job once a year?" Bela snorted. "Thank you but I'll skip." And after a pause. "And why wouldn't _you_ go to the nearest Wall Mart and have a party in the _Last minute sale_ department? Maybe you will even be lucky enough to charm yourself a gift." Head cocked and eyes sparkling. She looked like she was enjoying their little chit-chat.

"I was a bad boy," he beamed – or tried to – like it was something to be proud of.

It was getting harder to stay concentrated on their lazy banter with each passing moment. It was getting almost impossible to keep standing on his feet without shaking from side to side like some friggin' tree in the wind. Dean caught himself on the thought that his gun was heavier than he had thought before. And definitely much heavier than anything he was capable of holding at the moment. Obviously, keeping track of their bickering and holding his weapon were quickly becoming two mutually exclusive things.

God, he wasn't even sure he was still conscious. Could Bela be a part of his nightmare without being real? He grasped at this hope.

"Why do I find it so easy to believe?"

"We're in the same boat sweetheart! That even explains why I met _you_ today."

Bela rolled her eyes. "Oh, do whatever you want, Dean, really!" Sure, like he needed her permission! Please! "Just stay out of my way, okay? I have things to do here." She paused and regarded him appraisingly, debating something or another in her mind. And Dean was a hundred percent confident that she was seriously planning on kicking his ass out of the house should there appear any need for extreme measures. "Don't take it personally but maybe it's not so bad to have you sticking around." Added in a voice that implied that she was not at all thrilled with the idea but gave up.

Last phrase caught Dean's attention, no matter how distracted he was.

"Why?"

"It's a haunted house!" Now it was Bela's turn to sound like she was talking to someone mentally handicapped. Or like there was a billboard over the entrance that read _Haunted_ and he just happened to miss it by accident. Okay, maybe there was. Walking in through the back door was his excuse. "Haven't you done your homework at all before coming here, Dean?" Her eyes narrowed. "You did get the part about not taking it personally, right?"

Oh, he so hated it when she was talking like that!

"Haunted, of course," he echoed. "Everyone knows that."

He probably knew it right from the start. He only couldn't make his brain work properly to give it some serious thinking.

And then he knew that it was the end of the show. He was holding on for too long.

She might have commented on his words. Must have. But Dean missed it entirely because he suddenly started seeing spots before his eyes, bright and blinking, and the whole room turned into a carousel with the walls spinning around him and the floor floating. He fought to keep the upright position but swayed when dizziness won over whatever stamina he had left, somewhere deep inside.

"Dean?" All mockery was gone without a trace, replaced by unfeigned worry. She dropped her gun to the soft carper beneath their feet and reached to his seemingly inevitable fall, her arm wrapped supportively around his waist. First stage of humiliation. Something that Dean hoped to avoid one way or another. Dreadful realization struck him. It was real. It was way too bad to be some friggin' nightmare. "What's wrong? You okay?" She sounded strangely distant, like from miles away.

Oh, sure, he was doing pretty fine. It was his normal condition – not a single thought in the head and nearly unconscious state. But, hell, she should have gotten used to it by now! Why ask then?

Caught off-guard by genuine concern in her voice, Dean made an attempt to back off as if the touch of her hands was burning or somehow else painful.

Of course he wasn't. Bela knew it long before the sound of her voice faded in the air. This rusty metal smell that she missed while standing several steps away from him was unmistakably blood.

"Easy, give me that now." She took his gun from him before he pulled the trigger accidentally and tossed it away onto the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The moment of dizziness left behind, he tried to resist when she started pulling the jacket off his shoulders. "I'm fine," he growled.

If he could keep some kind of balance Bela guessed he'd probably jerk away. Most likely.

"So I see," she hemmed and seemed to entirely ignore his urge not to give in.

Dean scowled at her and huffed in frustration. "Just stay away from me, okay?"

He winced when his jacket was gone and relatively cool air of the room penetrated through his partly soaked with blood clothes, not at all eager to accept her help, and wondered if he was a part of this undressing process at all. Bela didn't seem to think so.

"Stop being such a baby!... Oh, my God," she gasped at the sight of blood stain on the sleeve of his button-up shirt which Dean suspected was almost as big as the sleeve itself. Or very close. And he didn't like it. After all it wasn't some ordinary chick who'd faint gladly at the sight of a scratch. It was Bela and only God knew what she had to deal with some time or another in the past. "You're such an idiot!"

Her exclamation was so out of place that it made Dean forget about his half-formed concerns instantly. And where did sympathy appropriate in the situation go? "Why?"

She swallowed hard – it was impossible to miss – and raised her head to look at him. Their eyes met. And then it was his turn to swallow. Confusion and fear was what he saw. Unusual and strangely pleasant on some level, and assuming who it was coming from it gave Dean a start. He frowned. And when did she get so close?

Bela took it her way though. "You should have told! No need to be such a martyr," with accusation, and then, "We must take you to the hospital. You lost too much blood."

"Are you kidding? No way!" Determination in his voice was meant to make his point clear.

Bela hesitated, considering. One hand was still resting on the small of his back to keep him standing in case he decided it was a too difficult task for him to manage without assistance.

"And what if…"

Dean nearly missed the line but it somehow broke through that thick gray fog in his head to what he'd call the remains of his mind.

"The bullet? Not there. Believe me, I know. It went through." He cringed at the memory. "So feel free to take your hands off me." Paused. "Seriously, Bela, I'm okay. And no way on Earth I'm going to let you take care of my precious self. Who knows what you're capable of?"

"Lovely, Dean!" On a snort. "But I'm not going to _take care_ of you, if you see what I mean." He could have sworn she made a funny face at him but he wasn't sure. "I'm only going not to let you bleed to death," Bela pointed out as if the difference was fundamental. "What am I supposed to do with your bloodless body?"

"It's nice to know that the consequences of my death bother you a lot more than the fact itself."

And here they were again.

"Oh, bloody hell, Dean!" And he shamefully failed to figure whether it was desperation or irritation that he heard in the tone of her voice. Both probably. He guessed she didn't know it herself. Well, at least it didn't look like she was going to drag him to the hospital on her back, and that was a relief. He was far not so sure he'd have enough strength to struggle if she decided otherwise. "But we can't leave it like that either." Annoyance was pretty clear this time. "Come on, let me take a look."

Oh, and now she started calling the shots! Brilliant!

"I can deal with it myself," Dean grimaced in protest.

"Sure you can."

"—So, back off, Florence Nightingale, would ya?"

Okay, I cannot deal with it myself, but back off anyway! And it was a tad crazy to have this double conversation.

"Be reasonable just for once, Dean. I know you can play with me here," she muttered while unbuttoning his shirt. A mixture of encouragement and plea.

On a sigh that meant acknowledgement of his inevitable defeat in this uneven battle, Dean moved his shoulder to help her free his healthy arm. His mind – or common sense – must have switched off somewhere between the third and the forth buttons. And what was the point in struggling anyway? He'd hardly have any energy left to keep the fight up. Being helplessly dependent on someone was a bitch. Being helplessly dependent on Bela was even worse. She was so not going to ever let him forget! But, hell, what other choice did he have?

Bela's hair tickled his cheek when she leaned closer to ease the shirt over his shoulder, slowly and cautiously, obviously aware of what kind of pain one careless movement might cause. They smelled like flowers and strawberries. Her shampoo probably, Dean guessed. Surreptitiously, he breathed delicate scent in once again when he was sure she wasn't watching, and barely resisted a wish to run his fingers through soft curls. Flowers, strawberries and something else, not less pleasant… Now what was that supposed to mean?

Maybe it was a good idea to count in his mind or something after all?

Confused and irritated with himself, Dean turned away and stared at the opposite wall trying to distract himself somehow from the soft sound of her breath and accidental brushing of her fingers against his skin. Imagined that he was a puppet. She was doing fine without his help anyway, enjoying her moment of glory perhaps, and her chance to pay him off for _whatever_.

She didn't seem to notice his somewhat uneasy state, or if she did she probably wrote it off to something else, like agonizing pain for example.

Dean sucked in the air when Bela started pulling the sleeve down his injured arm and clenched his teeth to stifle the groan, which turned into a low throaty growl.

"Sorry," she breathed out.

"I'm fine," his voice was hoarse for the reason that had nothing to do with his injure. Damn it! Why was he allowing her do it to him anyway? Dean wondered, whatever he meant by this _it_.

Bela looked up again. Her green eyes were so big that for a moment or two he failed to see anything else, mesmerized despite himself, nearly paralyzed by their depth. God, she was beautiful. He was in no condition to pretend that he didn't see it anymore. Strange how he managed to keep his eyes closed, figuratively speaking, for so long at all.

The discovery was unexpected and frightening. He was not allowed to feel things like that. Not about her. Not now when he had so little time left. No time at all. If only he could forget. If only he could change anything! Oh, crap! This was getting too complicated.

She must have felt something, too. Probably… Maybe… If this extended pause and some new meaning to the expression of her face was any indication. If her fingers lingering on his skin were telling the truth. Unsure but yet expecting; and maybe it was just his imagination because she was standing so close… but this time it really was something different. Something that none of them could resist or deny anymore.

Dean cleared his throat and broke eye contact first.

Bela hurried to look away, too. "It's Christmas Eve," she mimicked his earlier words shaking her head in disbelief. "How did you manage to end up with a bullet in your shoulder? Did I miss something and Santa is simply shooting people off for bad behavior now?"

"The bullet's not there," he repeated in a tired whisper. His breath touched her cheek. "Long story."

"And exciting, I'm sure," she muttered to herself.

An odd sound – like something fell to the floor in the outer reaches of the house – made them both freeze.

"Is that what I think it is?" That was getting way too far. Bela, blood, pain and ghosts! A hell of a way to have fun! Anything else on agenda?

"I told you, this house is haunted. Guess rumors are truthful after all. Wanna go and check?"

"Maybe some other time," he chuckled. "Get me right, baby, not a big fan of family holidays. But this? The weirdest Christmas ever. Even for my standards."

"Low standards, Dean," she commented. The silence that followed brought them back to the problem at hand. "We have to get you out of this, I'm afraid," obviously referring to his t-shirt.

"Go ahead, have fun. Enjoy the moment of my complete and utter weakness. I'm sure you've been waiting for it... Why do I feel like a friggin' guinea-pig on a laboratory table?" Dean mumbled.

Bela huffed. But despite all seeming irritation she was gentle while pulling thin cotton fabric off of him, her fingers barely touching him in order to avoid any unnecessary discomfort.

But he was feeling bad. Really bad. So hot from inside that some part of him would gladly jump into icy water, and yet so cold from outside that it was giving him goose-bumps and making his teeth chatter every now and then. His head felt too heavy to hold it up, and Bela… too close for comfort in ordinary meaning of this word.

And speaking of humiliation, Dean knew right there and then that this time he was going to collapse, right to her feet. Fucking blood loss! Was there any blood left in his body at all? Something told him that positive answer wasn't even an option. Plus, this growing noise in his head he'd been fighting back for quite a while already was making the whole thinking process a bit too difficult. He just wanted to sleep…

"Oh, no, bad idea!" Bela's reaction to his staggering was surprisingly fast. She grabbed him around the waist heaving him up the best way she could and holding him firmly against her body. "Dean? Look at me," she demanded when he was just a step away from sinking into this warm cloud that seemed to be all around him. She put her hand on his cheek and then moved it to his forehead, frowning. "Oh, great! You have fever, you know that? Damn it, Dean! You're all burning. Don't close your eyes!"

Of course he knew he had a fever! Or something else even less pleasant. Damn bullet must have gone through his shoulder and damaged his brain. How else could he explain the things he was thinking and feeling? Why else would he want…

The touch of her fingers to his face felt soothingly cool, or maybe he really was burning. And for a moment or two some part of him was simply enjoying her closeness now that he had damn fever to blame it on. Dean knew that it wasn't just that, that everything was much worse this time, and it was making him wish to run away as far as possible but this lame excuse – the _fever_! - was okay for now, assuming that the whole run-away plan had been ruled out for a while anyway.

"Why do you even bother?" Dean muttered through his teeth, annoyed with the fact that he cared at all. "Got someone else to sell us to? Wouldn't put it past you, Bela."

"You wouldn't understand," but it came out in a whoosh of breath and was too quiet for him to catch.

"Okay, I got it. You're like some freaking vampire, and you're feeding on my misery and humiliation."

"Funny, but I like the idea."

"Just keep your fangs away from my throat."

"Go on with your babbling, Dean. It seems to keep you occupied."

"It fucking hurts, you know?"

"I can imagine." Bela paused, considering. "Okay, I can't, and truthfully, I don't want to."

"Where are you taking me?" He was surprised to find out they were actually moving. Missed the moment they started completely.

"We have to find something a tad more useful," she informed him; darted a quick look at his face and clenched her teeth. However it felt for Dean, she could characterize the whole situation as _heavy_.

"Something like what? A medieval torturing chamber?"

"Something that can be used as a ward." Bela huffed to blow a stray of hair off her face.

"Wanna play doctor, huh?" Dean sneered.

"Not that I'm opposed to the idea in general, but the game you're talking about will have to wait I'm afraid. Till you're fully functional at least." She gave him a skeptical once-over. It was supposed to be an insult, he guessed, and it would be if it weren't for a sincere worry that he heard in her voice. "Just hold on for a little while more, okay? I'm not going to carry you, Dean, so if you pass out I swear to God I will leave you wherever you fall."

"Now aren't you encouragement in the flesh, Bela?"

She pushed the door open and they stumbled into the dark room. Dean wanted to comment on the lack of light one way or another but his tongue went numb in his mouth. Did he care about the light at all? Absently, he noted that the pain was nearly gone, replaced by some odd stupefaction. It was probably some kind of shock, Dean thought somewhat indifferently. It was not good. But when Bela helped him carefully onto the edge of the bed all he could do was slump backwards and close his eyes. Finally.

***

This time it was a simple golden heart-shaped locket on a plain chain that was meant to make the one wearing it attractive to everyone around, or to someone particular, which initially was the general idea.

Meredith Charleston was known to be the last owner of the thing. And now Bela wanted it badly. Not that she had someone specific to sell it to in mind but she knew she'd have a buyer lined up as soon as she got the locket. Love spell stuff had always been the most alluring and desired and, as a result, the fastest to go. It wasn't surprising that the majority of people were too stupid to think about consequences and side effects of such things. Once in love, they were becoming deaf to the voice of common sense.

In this particular case the locket was meant to inevitably make the person it was affecting utterly obsessed with the one wearing it and practically drive them crazy within weeks. Not exactly the effect people normally expected from _'oh, please, let him – or her – love me forever'_ stuff.

Bela for her part never could get why anyone would want to use love spells to make someone fall in love with them. It wasn't even a real feeling, just a fake, and it looked miserable to her. She tried to imagine the situation in which she'd forget about everything and retrieve a book with love spells from her shelf, and failed to come up with any. But then who was she to judge? It was none of her business after all. So, usually she preferred to skip the part about how something or another could backfire in the end. As long as there were buyers ready to pay money, Bela willed herself to stay distracted from how they were going to use what she was offering.

So, the locket… She knew it was somewhere in the house, and technically speaking it was only a matter of time to come across it. And, technically speaking, she wasn't in a hurry. Not that she liked the idea of staying in presumably haunted place longer than necessary but, well, even her business had its bad sides. She planned to be done within several hours and she thought she was doing pretty fine going thoroughly through one room after another, checking on all possible and impossible places.

But then Dean Winchester found it necessary to stomp into her plans with the grace of drunken elephant and ruin everything. Again. No surprise here actually. Not really. She had long come to realization that the Winchester bothers were her little personal curse. She even had her own Winchester-o-meter – as long as the things were going too smooth and perfect, trust the two of them to show up and turn everything upside down. Or one, depending. Why would this time be different?

Honestly, Bela didn't quite mind running into Dean from time to time because she genuinely enjoyed they bickering and bantering, and all that stuff. And she was thinking of him, too. Not in any special way of course, just wondering what he was doing some time or another. Recalling their short conversations always brought smile to her lips. No one could handle her the way he did. And then he was interesting, too. Like a rare specie, all so good and everything. And she couldn't help but imagine – ashamed of her fantasies – how the things could be if… If he didn't hate her, to begin with.

But this? A bit too much, even for her.

Why? Why wouldn't Dean Winchester go to some other place? A hospital would do this time. No, he found it necessary to mess up her day.

And now she had _General Hospital_ to play, one for all.

Not that Bela was bad at first aid stuff, but the problem was that normally she didn't have anything to do with blood-related activities, so her ER skills were more theoretical than practical, and honestly, she'd prefer them to stay that way. It wasn't her job to save bloody hunters in distress, for God's sake!

And yet… She found the candles in the kitchen since she needed some light _and_ both her hands free at the same time, and it somehow ruled out the use of flashlight. She grabbed the prehistoric first aid kit she found in the cupboard as well. All the medicines peacefully "died" some twenty years ago, but she figured out that bandages and thermometer probably didn't have expiration dates and thus could be of help. Added a little bottle of brandy that she planned to use as antiseptic to her findings, barely able to hold them all in her arms by this time, and hurried back to the room where she'd left Dean, edgy and nervous despite herself.

He wasn't doing good. Not at all. If anyone would in his place. He looked very pale, and this thin sheet of sweat on his face was a clear indication of high temperature, but at the same time she could feel him shivering as if with cold.

"Just hold on, Dean," she asked him in a whisper even if he couldn't hear her, and bit her bottom lip. He was bleeding badly but Bela hesitated to start her treatment actions fearing to make the things worse. Her stomach clenched and she fought to keep her cool. Debated calling 911… He'd kill her. "Oh, crap! Couldn't find a better time to piss me off, yeah? You know what? I'm sure you did it on purpose!"

Bela thought she heard the footsteps in the outer reaches of the house but they were too quiet and faded away too quickly for her to be sure that they even were real and not just a figment of her imagination caused by creepy stories. Truthfully, she liked the later variant better and decided to stick to it. And yet she couldn't help but close the door to the corridor unable to get rid of the feeling that someone was watching them from the darkness.

***

Dean didn't remember much. He remembered that the pain was back though, and that it was terrible. But thankfully he never stayed awake for too long to fully appreciate all the fun of being a prisoner of war during interrogation. Never been the one, but that was exactly what he thought they were subjected to going through. He was drifting between haze and reality, coming up to the surface from time to time only to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

And then there was Bela. That fact he was absolutely positive about, on some subconscious level at least. It was easy to concentrate on the sound of her soothing voice even if he couldn't make out the words, or on the gentle touch of her hands to his hot skin. Dean remembered her hand under his neck when she was helping him to take a medicine, or a rat bane. No one could be sure of anything with Bela. But no, painkillers, Dean thought when the pain started to fade away, together with his mind. He made a mental note to kill her for going through his stuff without his permission all the same…

The next time he awoke to the ember glow that was coming from the fireplace alongside with the waves of warmth and pleasant scent of burning pinewood.

Bela was sitting on the floor near the bed, with her head rested on her elbow and her hand lying on his arm, right below the bandages. Her eyes were open and watching the dance of flame of an old wax candle.

"Hey there," she raised her head and gave him a soft smile when Dean turned to look at her.

He blinked, surprised despite himself, thoughts forcing their way through the clouds in his head. Unfortunately, bullet-in-the-shoulder-related part of his nightmare didn't disappear upon waking.

"What…"

Dean swallowed in attempt to make his mouth less dry still having considerable problems with forming a normal question even in his head. Wasn't even sure he was awake.

"How are you feeling?" Her fingers trailed feather-light down his cheek.

It was the fever, Dean reminded himself vaguely recalling her mentioning something like that. Fever and God knows how many painkillers or whatever else she fed to him because he was obviously hallucinating. Some part of his brain simply refused to believe what he thought his eyes were seeing. No artifice, no mockery. Bela's eyes were tired and there was a worried crease between her brows, but her smile was reassuring and somewhat relieved. She did look like she… _cared_.

He must still be dreaming.

"What did you do to me, Doctor Quinn?" Dean asked in a low voice, hit tongue was so not willing to move in his mouth. Seriously, he was curious what exactly went past him. He could barely feel his arm because of a tight bandage on the shoulder that definitely wasn't there the last time he checked.

"You missed all the fun," Bela sighed in mock-regret. "I had to put in the stitches," announced rather proudly then, and added, "Don't you dare move and screw up my job. You do that, next stitches are yours."

"Cute," he mumbled. So, it was going to hurt later.

"I'm serious, Dean. And… I'm not an expert but your muscle might be affected."

It was going to really hurt then.

"Any other surprises I should but probably don't want to know about, Doc? Took some saucy pictures while I was out to blackmail me with later?"

Bela giggled. "I had to burn down our Christmas tree to keep us warm," on a quick look over her shoulder and at the fireplace.

Dean shook his head and chuckled. "You're terrible. Even worse than I thought."

"Oh, tell me that."

He felt her fingers traveling absently up and down his injured arm, from the wrist to the elbow and back, barely touching his skin and still making him tingle. And this unnaturally natural gesture scared him like hell; like nothing else before. Bela didn't seem to even notice she was touching him, as if it was something normal. And the fact that it actually _felt_ normal to him was terrifying. She looked so different. So not like herself. But then again, painkillers…

Thankfully, here his mind slipped away.

After that he woke up closer to the dawn feeling a tad more alive than before. At least he stopped associating the bed with a deck of a ship in the open sea in storm. Walls got back to their places as well. He knew he was dreaming about something but he couldn't remember what it was. It felt weird.

It was still dark, especially now that the fire died down, but it wasn't that _middle-of-the-night _pitch-black darkness anymore. Curios, Dean looked around and in its grayish shade managed to make out the silhouettes of a dresser and a massive redwood wardrobe. He spotted a deep leather armchair to the right from the fireplace and Bela fast asleep in it with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her kicked-off shoes lay on the floor nearby.

She opened her eyes instantly as if she felt him looking. "Hey," her smile was sweet and sleepy, and it made Dean doubt the reality once again, or suspect that it was his wishful thinking. Not that he ever wished…

Yawning, Bela uncurled herself from the armchair as gracefully as possible and applauded mentally when she didn't fall off the bloody thing. Never came across anything as uncomfortable before, really. She stretched herself, and winced when her muscles protested against the movement after her extended motionless sitting. Strange that she fell asleep at all with all these noises and footsteps all over the second floor area she had pleasure to listen to for hours. Felt like ghosts were having a party.

She came up to the bed and stopped when her knees hit the mattress.

"You feeling better?" She asked, eyes wide and wandering around his face, obviously searching for something that would be a better answer than any words he could say.

Better? Compared with what?

Dean sighed and held out an arm. "Come here," he called her quietly, his voice barely a whisper. And was surprised to notice that he no longer was a member of a strip-show team, wearing his flannel button-up shirt. Didn't remember how it happened.

Bela obliged to his invitation without thinking. Smoothly she slid across empty half of the bed and let him pull her into his side with his healthy arm. Stiff at first, she relaxed eventually to the warmth of his body and let out a silent sigh. His flannel shirt that she found in the backpack felt soft to her cheek, and it smelled nice too, like fabric softener and Dean's after-shave lotion. God, she wasn't going back to the damn armchair even for a reward.

"You okay?"

"That was supposed to be my question, Dean."

"Bet it wasn't what you planned, huh?" He asked. Bela made a noise he couldn't make out clearly, and shook her head, her hair tickling his chin. "Not my idea of having fun either."

His hand ran idly up and down her back, and the gesture – the friendliest touch she could have remembered – made her throat clog and pushed her to cuddle up closer. He wasn't feeling good, probably had no idea what he was doing, and she was too tired to think about anything at all, Bela told herself and felt better, as if simple human contact needed an excuse. Thanked God he couldn't see her flushing cheeks.

"At least you're not halfway to boiling yourself from inside anymore," she murmured into his shoulder, voice muffle and sleepy. His heat was making her drowsy.

"I'd like to see that," Dean snickered. Oh, yeah, trust him to turn everything into a joke!

"Ever saw an egg exploding in the microwave?"

"No, I read the instructions first, see. They always say – never try to cook eggs in the microwave. Didn't you know that?"

Fighting back a smile, or a snicker of her own, she drawled mockingly, "Why, Dean, I can easily imagine you reading the instructions _everywhere_, even on a pack of crackers, like _Pull here to open_."

0:2 to Bela Talbot. Nothing new here.

It was clearly meant to be another witty quip, like many others they usually used for communication. But she sounded tired and apprehensive instead, kind of ruining the whole effect. And who could blame her at five in the morning? Or whatever time it was.

"Dying man's trying to be nice, and you're still an intolerable bitch." He chuckled. But there was something resembling admiration in his words that made her smile. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You're not dying," Bela snorted keeping the fight up out of habit mostly. "It's just a scratch!"

"With stitches?!" He gasped insulted by this bold underestimation.

"Don't be such a girl! Besides, you're stuffed with painkillers," she tacked on brining his humiliation to the critical point. What a sweetheart!

_So that is why I feel like after a drunker fight_, Dean thought. Nice! He looked pointedly at his bandage wondering if his arm was going to stay numb for the rest of his life. "It still hurts, you know," _to say the least_.

"Now you do whine like a girl, Dean." And yet she was somewhat struck by his oddly fatalistic words, like there was something else behind them than what she'd heard. "We all are, you know," Bela whispered. "Dying I mean. Gradually."

But then he was a hunter, she reminded herself. A hunter with a super-hero complex. They always had problems with living long life and enjoying lazy retirement.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. _Only six months left now_. And then, "Seriously, Bela, Christmas? Why? Are you that repulsed by it?" in case she decided to go on with their sweet life and death conversation, which wasn't making things easier since it _was_ his last Christmas even if she didn't know that. And what a nice way to spend it, gee!

Holidays. Bela had problems with them. The side of life that was beyond her understanding to some degree and that she tried to avoid. It was convenient to work on holidays though when most people cared for nothing but family dinners and presents. Besides, her alternative was a cat for a company and a glass of the best wine in the empty apartment. Loneliness. She wasn't repulsed exactly, maybe just a bit envious of those who saw any sense in this waste of time and money. Sometimes, it felt like she was missing something important but Bela was good at blocking such thoughts out of her mind.

"They are going to take this place down after holidays," she explained.

"What's so special about it?"

"You came here and you don't know?"

"Another long story. So what is it?"

"Nothing special," she shrugged, half-asleep already but not distracted enough to share any information. Knew better than that. "Local legends." It wasn't even a lie. Just not the whole truth. And she was too tired to think out a decent story.

They laid in silence for a while, chests rising and falling synchronously in time with their breathing.

"Did you really burn down Christmas tree?" Dean asked suddenly when she was nearly asleep; the most unexpected question she could ever have imagined.

"Uh-huh, in protest against overall happiness." She giggled quietly, and then, "I found the logs in the box near the fireplace actually. Thought no one would mind if I used them." Imagined surprise on his face and giggled again, mostly to herself.

The weirdest Christmas ever, just like his said.

And here she was, spending it with Dean Winchester. The most impossible of all generally impossible things in the world. An event to remember.

* * *

**To be continued…**

**A/n:** Initially, the whole story was supposed to end here but it would have been too easy, huh? ;)

Reviews and comments are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I know, I know, haven't been updating for a while but my job is giving me hard times now. I barely have time for sleep, leave alone my hobbies. I keep my fingers crossed for it to slow down soon :))

Okay, hope you're going to like this part.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Dean heard them through his dream. Thought at first that these soft, almost soundless steps were a part of it, or so his sleepy common sense told him. In the back of his mind he knew that it was the only logical explanation as the house was presumably empty, with the exception of him and…

Bela sighed in her sleep, and it was what woke him up, brought him back to reality. She and his arm around her felt very real, unlike everything else. Dull throbbing in the left shoulder came, too, as unnecessary supplement.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Merry Christmas," he whispered, his fingers ran along her arm.

"Mm? Merry Christmas," she murmured back, and there was smile in her voice

"Wow! Look, it snows!" He poked her shoulder.

"Really?" Bela didn't even so much as open her eyes. "Terrific." Which was supposed to mean – _shut up, you dolt, and let me sleep_.

And then something caught his attention, although he couldn't say what exactly it was. Not a sound and not a movement but he turned his head to the door instinctively... And she was standing there, between the bed and the fireplace. A woman dressed like she had just came right from mid 50s of the last century. Age indefinable, she was looking seriously at him, although there was no aggression about her. Dean even thought that he saw her mouth moving as if she was talking to him but he couldn't hear anything. She looked like she was glowing from inside, but it might have as well been a trick of light.

He went completely still despite himself, out of surprise mostly, trying to come up with what it could possibly be. But then he blinked, and she was gone, as fast as that. Made him wonder if she was there at all.

"What is it?" Bela inquired momentarily. The change in his state didn't escape her attention.

"I think I saw... um..." he trailed off, frowning.

"Santa?" She offered helpfully. Looked up at him and then followed his gaze but there was nothing.

"A woman... I think," he said and winced at how absurdly it sounded.

"That was Mrs. Claus then," she guessed.

"She looked a bit too young for Mrs. Claus, you know," he objected, but then.... She was teasing him. Obviously. Nice! "I'm serious!"

"Well, when I told you about the ghosts I wasn't kidding either."

A ghost. Sure. So, Missouri didn't call for fun after all, Dean thought. Something was not right with this house by the looks of it. If only his eyes were not deceiving him. Not that he seriously thought that she could bother them without any reason...

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered.

"What again?"

"Sam."

"Sam?" Bela whipped her head around and then sat up on a rush. "Where?"

"Nowhere," Dean hemmed getting up, and added, more to himself than to her, "That's the problem."

Curiously, Bela watched him going through his backpack muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

She took her chance to give him a proper studying look now that he was too busy to make a crack about it. His color was not good, too pale in her opinion, but all in all he didn't look like he was going to die any time soon. He was tired though, if these dark circles under his eyes were any indication, as if he didn't catch a single moment of sleep. Not even anywhere close to his best. And yet, it made her wonder if her worries were justified at all. Doubting Dean's ability to survive anything felt almost shameful now.

"What did you do to my stuff?" Dean growled. Gave her a glare.

"I don't keep painkillers close at hand," she scoffed. "No need, see."

"Got it!" He fished his mobile somewhere from the depths of the mess that was the contents of his backpack, beaming like a string of Christmas lights. "Twelve missed calls!" He gasped after a quick look at the screen and shook his head. It felt embarrassing, with Bela there and her eyes on him. Like he was some bloody five-year old and Sam was his mommy. "Haven't you heard it?" Dean asked with accusation all the same, before she came up with one of her mock comments.

"Sorry, Dean. But first, I'm not your secretary. And second, I was slightly distracted by trying to keep your priceless ass alive." She rolled her eyes.

No mocking, sure! Like she needed a reason.

"You said it was a scratch."

"It is. Now. Or so it looks." And then, "You guys what, can't spend two hours without being in touch? It is sick, if you ask me."

On that Bela slid off the bed and came up to the window to take a look outside. And anything but gasped fascinated despite herself by the view. It was beautiful, so white that it hurt her eyes at first and she had to blink quickly several times to actually start seeing anything.

The window was coming out into the front yard, waves of snowdrifts covering it now, formed by the wind. It was still snowing. She could barely see the fence now through the shroud of fluffy snowflakes falling from the low gray sky. Dark spots that were trunks of naked trees looked odd and out of place but Bela guessed that it probably was a matter of an hour or two, and then the picture would be perfect making it impossible to believe that the scenery was dull and unfriendly only a few hours ago.

"_Dean?_" Sam picked up immediacy, right after the first ring, a mixture of relief and irritation in his voice.

"Hey there, Sammy!"

"_Hey there?! Dean, you okay?_" Was that panic?

"Um, yeah. I guess. Why?"

"_What do you mean – why? You're unbelievable. Might have picked up once, you know. I thought you died there!_"

"Nice!" Dean snickered. "Always an optimist. Well, sorry, I was... hm, healing." He darted a quick look at Bela's back. Couldn't miss her snort. "I'm fine. Where the hell are you? You were supposed to come here like what? Ten hours ago?"

"_I'm still in the motel_."

"What are you doing there?" Dean frowned. "What happened?"

"_Technically speaking, I'm stuck here_."

"Stuck? Why?"

Sam cleared his throat. "_It's a snowstorm outside, Dean. Haven't you seen? I barely made it up here when it started and now... I'm not sure I will manage to dig the car out without help. I'm not even sure which one of these snowdrifts over there is the Impala_—"

"Amazing."

"—_Moreover, I don't think it is possible to drive into the street without getting stuck somewhere on the way. Besides, the roads are closed_."

Dean froze. The news was making its way into his conscience a tad slower than usually. "What do you mean – closed?" He asked.

Intrigued by the conversation, Bela turned away from the window and looked expectedly at him.

"_Unless you know any other meaning of the word 'closed', then – no one's going anywhere_." Sam chuckled. "_State of emergency, see. They closed the roads and told everyone to stay inside_." And added, "_It's all over the news_."

"Uh-huh, nice, but I'm sorta cut off any information here."

"_Oh, okay. Anyway, a team from the police department was sent to check around if anyone was caught in their cars when the storm began. They asked people not to go out and said that the weather would probably get better by noon_."

"Probably?"

Sam ignored him. "_After that they'll need several hours to clean the roads, to make them safe_." He paused. "_So, that's it_."

"Are you saying that I'm stuck here?"

Bela tiled her head, eyes never leaving his face. She folded her arms on the chest, one of her brows arched elegantly. Noted that Dean flushed, and fought to hide her smile.

"_There are two feet of snow all over the flat surfaces, or more, depending on where to check, and it's not over. Unless you're intended to dig a tunnel, Dean, I'm afraid you'll have to stay where you are_."

"What the hell am I supposed to do here?" Dean bellowed.

Both Bela's brows shot up to the very hairline, lips twisted into her trademark cat-like smile. He wasn't looking at her though. Intentionally, she figured. Color from his cheeks moved down his neck now. She, for her part, felt sterilely comfortable with the whole situation.

"Nice as always, Dean," she commented as she walked past him and out of the room.

"_What was that?_" Sam asked immediately.

"What?"

"_I think I head a voice_."

Dean craned his neck attempting to look out of the room without moving from his place. "Seems like this freaking snow got stuck in your ears, Sam."

"_Whatever. It's just for several hours, Dean_."

"Yeah," he sighed. Brilliant!

"_What's with the house by the way? You found anything there?_"

"I think it's haunted."

"_You think or it's haunted?_"

"Cannot say for sure yet."

"_You saw anything?_"

Dean hesitated. "I think so. Maybe. Did you talk to Missouri? She could be of help here, you know."

"_I know, man. I tried to call her, but there's answering machine all the time_."

"Great!"

"_Listen, just look around there, okay? And stay out of trouble. I mean it. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can_."

"It's not like I have a choice," Dean grimaced.

"_See you, man_," Sam snickered and hung up.

***

Bela needed a bathroom, she was dying to take a shower and she was almost a step away from selling her soul for a toothbrush. Okay, she didn't exactly mean the last one, but she still felt like she had just gotten out of washing machine, in a _crumpled and fagged out_ instead of _clean and fresh_ way though. And the thought of not being able to get out of this place – it was not hard to make this fact out from Dean's part of conversation with his lovely brother – was not at all consoling, even though she wasn't finished here yet, and only God knows where she'd end up if she left last evening and got into the storm.

The prospect of freezing to death in her car made her shudder. And where was it leaving her? A house stuffed with ghosts or turning into an ice-cream – like a choice between bad and… well, bad.

The second floor bathroom was much better than Bela could have expected, all things considered. Pleasant surprise. There was a modern bathtub – not a five-stars-hotel modern one but relatively new compared with the furniture and decorations all the same – a marble sink and fine hardwood floor like in the rest of the house. And unlike smaller bathroom downstairs that she came across the day before, this one had a window with fluted glass, which was an essential necessity assuming the absence of electricity. Gray light coming through it wasn't quite enough though but it was better than using a flashlight. At least Bela could use both her hands.

She opened the window to let in some fresh air and more light and breathed in the smell of snow.

Big mirror over the sink confirmed her worst suspicions. She was irretrievably wrinkled, her yesterday's make-up was a nightmare and her hair… in comparison with crazy kinks of her hair her make-up was fresh and perfect.

Bela scowled at the reflection irritated with her inability to do whatever it takes to look more presentable. Regretted leaving her make-up bag back in the hotel room and sighed. She turned her head from side to side trying to catch a better angle, the one that would stop making her wish to put a paper bag on her head in order to help the matters. She rubbed at the mascara smudge under her right eye and scowled deeper when it turned out that red spot right above her cheekbone looked not much better then the black one before it.

A splash of cold water on her face helped a little bit; made Bela feel more alive and cleared that sand from her eyes – inevitable consequence of nearly sleepless night. God, what time was it now?

She groped for her wrist and then recalled somewhat belatedly that she had left her watch on the bedside table in the room, with Dean. Not that it mattered. She was just curious, but she growled to herself anyway. It felt like everything was going very wrong starting from yesterday's afternoon, getting only worse as time passed by.

Oh, and there was no hot water. Of course. Bela guessed that it was either cut off, like electricity, or the pipes froze when the weather changed. Either way, it wasn't a big surprise, but it made her wish to go back to her hotel and spend several long hours in the bathtub filled with floral foam almost overwhelming.

Bela searched through Mrs. Charleston's stuff then. No toothbrushes for guests. Sure! But she nearly moaned with relief when she found a hairbrush.

"Hope you don't mind," she muttered into the air going through her tangled curls with what could cost some five hundred dollars in the antiques shop. If Dean really saw the ghost of Mrs. Charleston – oh, Lord, what did she get herself into this time? – it made sense to be nice.

She whirled around with lightning speed at the squeal of the opening door because she knew she bolted it behind her, heart jumping up to her very throat. But much to Bela's shock the door was closed, there was no one in the bathroom. She frowned. Could have sworn she heard…

She shook her head. Here's to hanging around the haunted house. Cute! No wonder no one was thrilled with living here. Maybe only thrilled like _thrilled_, she added to herself. Honestly, sometimes she had nothing against Dean, his bad manners and sweet habit to barge into wherever he felt like. It was annoying and his presence was usually setting her teeth on edge, but it wasn't creepy a least.

Bela closed the window and left the bathroom some thirty minutes later feeling more like herself and less like a docker after the night shift. Last quick glance in a mirror, fingers through her hair and… she was perfect. As perfect as she could be in this particular situation, with her stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably at the prospect of having to face Dean Winchester. Cuddling up with him at night was one thing. Dealing with it in the light of the day was something entirely different. Something she wasn't sure she was all that ready for.

***

If felt awkward. He didn't tell Sam. Why on earth he didn't tell Sam? There was no reason to make a big secret of Bela's presence in the house. Might have as well mentioned that she sort of helped him, although Dean couldn't quite get rid of the thought in the back of his mind that it was too early to relax. He even nearly made a crack about the situation, and Bela getting in his way all the time, and all that "bad luck" stuff, but when Sam wished him to hold on "there of your own" and Dean opened his mouth to say that he wasn't _that_ alone, moreover the place seemed to be slightly overcrowded, he only cleared his throat and muttered something gloomy about being stuck in a bloody horror movie for holidays.

What bothered him most at the moment was that something changed between them. Something happened last night – not on a physical level but deeper – and there was no turning back now.

He saw it coming ever since they met first, no matter how determined he was to struggle against it. He saw it coming and he knew better than letting his guards down. And yet… Last night was a blur; he could barely remember a thing or two, and honestly, he was grateful for that. But he remembered _her_. Her face; her eyes sparkling in the darkness. The way she was looking at him. The sound of her voice was ringing in his head. It was so clear, and it felt so… right.

Embarrassment came then, from realization that he was too weak to even stand without swaying. From being so vulnerable around her. Bela's reaction to that wasn't even anywhere close to what he expected, and it only made things more confusing. Made him wish for more.

Why keep on lying to himself anyway? He wanted her from the moment he saw her first. He wanted her and he couldn't do anything about it. Not anymore. But what could he offer in return? She was much too good for him, see last night proving it. Furthermore, she was more than anything he had ever dared to dream of. She must be having certain expectations. As for him, he was dying in only six months and could barely do anything to change it. Willed himself not to count days, it would be too much. Could bring him to counting minutes, and he didn't want to go in too deep. He would gladly not think about it at all.

Dean tried to recall what he could have said or done when he wasn't in control of himself. Wanted to know what he was responsible for before she showed up. And failed. He wanted to kiss her. That he knew for sure. And he knew that they were close. Perhaps it was unnaturally high temperature of his body that made his brains melt, Dean told himself, and knew instantly that it was just another lie. Honestly, he would be glad to blame that wish on fever or whatever else he could blame it on. Wished like hell it was _that_ simple. But the truth was that the fever was gone, but the wish stayed.

How could he tell Sam that Bela was here and pretend that it was nothing more than unpleasant surprise? Wasn't sure he could make his lie sound convincing enough this time. And the only question spinning in his mind was – why now?

***

They ended up in the library some time later, the very room that Bela was going through the day before when she was so rudely interrupted. She didn't keep her hopes up. If she found out who the last owner of the locket was and where it could be, the other could do it, too. It might as well be long gone, and the fact that it didn't show up anywhere meant nothing. People could keep secrets if they thought it was necessary. She knew it better than anyone. But at the same time the lack of information could also mean that no one was lucky – or no one tried hard enough. Precious thing could still be somewhere here.

Not in the Mrs. Charleston's bedroom though. Bela went through it very thoroughly assuming that it was the most probably place. No one would keep something really valuable in the hallway or in the living room, right? But she didn't find anything resembling the description she had.

Mr. Charleston's room didn't cheer her up either. He passed away twenty years before his wife and theoretically speaking she could have used his room to store her stuff. She could have, but apparently she didn't.

So, the library, or the study, with Dean close on her heels and his eyes watching her every movement, or so she was feeling. Bela wasn't really optimistic about it though. Mrs. Charleston could have had a secret hiding place for her valuables. And she probably did. More secret than a safe behind the picture, which Bela found and checked out in the first place. She found nothing useful there. Some jewelry, a folder with documents. The things she wasn't interested in. And she wasn't up to cutting the mattresses or the backs of the couches. It was vandalism after all. Not her style.

"So, tell me about the… legends," Dean asked after a while.

"What?" His voice broke through Bela's thoughts so suddenly that she nearly jumped.

"Local legends," he reminded her. "About this house." And looked pointedly around as if there was a chance that she could misunderstand him.

Bela lowered old black-and-white picture in elegant frame back to the table where it was standing before and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"Seriously, Dean, how did you get here if you didn't know a thing?"

He rolled his eyes. "A friend of mine asked to check this place out. No specifications. Okay for you, miss I Gotta Know Everything?"

"I see," Bela drawled. "And you rushed ahead without so much as a question. In a state you were in, too. That's cute, really. A bit too altruistic in my opinion, but that's you."

"I can listen to you forever and ever, Bela, swear to God, but… are you done?"

"Charming!" Her lips stretched into fake-sweet smile and she batted eyelashes at him trying to look flattered and coquettish; debated blowing him a kiss. "There's not so much to say," she admitted then, wincing. "This house had been built by Lord Charleston a little more than a century ago—"

"Lord? Was he some ancestor of yours or what?"

Bela, who moved to the bookshelves by this moment, gave him a look over the shoulder. "Would you like to continue?"

"No, no, go on. I'm all ears." He picked up the crystal ball the purpose of which was indefinable and started throwing it into the air like a baseball ball or something, catching it effortlessly.

"Thank you, Dean! So, Mrs. Meredith Charleston, the only wife of Lord Charleston's only grandson, was the last owner and inhabitant of this house—"

"Hey, that's her," he poked at the black-and-white picture.

"Who?"

"The woman that I saw in the morning." Dean paused thoughtfully. Gave another look to the image. "She's a bit older here, but… I'm sure it's her."

Bela hesitated. "It's Mrs. Charleston, Dean."

"Really? Wow! So, she _is_ the ghost."

"Probably." The things were getting creepier. "Gregory Charleston died from heart attack in mid 50s of the last century. They didn't have children, and after her husband's death Mrs. Charleston spent the rest of her life here, all on her own."

Her voice faded away. Bela bent closer to read the names on the old, worn-out covers. This place was like a paradise for antiquaries, or thieves, depending, but these were just books to Bela's endless fret. Old and valuable, true. Some of them were unique maybe. She wasn't sure, never been too much into ordinary bookselling. But what she was sure of was that they had no value to her.

Dean stopped his exciting exercises and turned to look at her. "And? That's it?" He sounded disappointed. "No cheating wives? No bloodbath? What are you doing here then?"

Bela straightened herself up, obviously enjoying his impatience and irritation.

"You have sick imagination," she shook her head, not at all surprised. "Tell me, Dean, would you like to live here?"

The question gave him a start. Live here? He could hardly imagine living somewhere for an extended period of time in general. Years of hitting the road at any time of the day had probably made the settlement of some sort impossible. But if… well, this place didn't look homey to him.

"For free?" He specified all the same. "Or what's the catch?"

"No one wants to live here. Or can't, speaking of that. Charlestons didn't have any heirs, so officially this house belongs to the city from the moment Mrs. Charleston was declared dead, since she left no will."

"Declared?" Dean's brows shot up.

So, he was paying attention after all.

"I'm coming to that. Mrs. Charleston had a certain… reputation."

"What kind of reputation?" His eyes glinted with curiosity.

"Rumors are she was a…" Bela made a meaningful pause. "A witch." And added when a shade of skepticism ran over Dean's face. "Not a rats'-tails-and-frogs'-eyes kind of witch. But she supposedly was fans of witchcraft of some sort. No one could ever prove it, of course. But then no one ever stayed in this house for more than a week either. Normally, new happy owners were taking off without explanations, which only served to heat up the gossiping."

The way she was telling the story, casually and without actual interest, made Dean wonder if Bela believed any of that at all. She didn't look like she did. But he did see _something_… Probably.

"Has anyone ever been… hurt here?" He questioned then recalling the poltergeist in his family house, in a place where his mother died. Missouri would always be associating with poltergeists for him, Dean thought. And back then the angry spirit wanted to hurt people. And he did, truth be told.

Bela's reply cooled him down though. "Not that I've heard," she said. "Not physically if that's what you mean. Why?"

"What? Nothing." He mustered a lopsided grin. "Just curious. So, what about the 'declared' part?"

"Oh, that," she paused. Took a book from the shelf and flipped carefully through the yellowish pages feeling Dean's eyes burning a hole in her head. Even without looking back she could clearly see him hopping impatiently, cursing her mentally. The image made Bela smile. "Her body was never found, see." She returned the book to its place. Rare, collection edition, and so damn useless!

"That's a good start," he smirked. "How they know she's dead then?"

Bela gave him a condescending look, peppered with sympathy, which made him grimace.

"If she wasn't, she'd be over one hundred years old by now, Dean." She sighed when he blinked at her, all _why should I explain such obvious things to you?_ "Mrs. Charleston never was a social person, if you see what I mean." He hemmed. Bela ignored the sound. "After her husband's death she was barely leaving the house. But it lasted for so long that people even stopped talking. It was a postman who reported to the police that something wasn't right when Mrs. Charleston stopped emptying her mailbox. She was only in her mid 60s, not quite old yet, but she could have tripped and fallen from the stairs, or gotten hurt somehow else." Bela shrugged which was supposed to mean that assumptions could be endless. "They decided to check on her, just to make sure that she was fine." Her voice trailed off as if she was sure there was no need to continue. Everything was clear enough.

"Let me guess. They didn't find anyone here," Dean suggested, voicing the obvious.

"Nope. The door was locked from inside. Deadbolt." She added. "The house was empty, of course."

"Of course."

"And Mrs. Charleston was just gone." The image of the two of them telling scary stories like at the campfire nearly made her giggle. "All her stuff, her clothes – it all remained where it was meant to be. Police found a jewelry box, some money, and other things that people normally never leave behind when they move out, or just leave for a while."

Dean lowered himself onto the arm of the armchair. "And they thought right away that she flew out of the chimney," he commented.

"Apparently," she let out a short laugh. "And then strange things began to happen."

"Strange like what?"

"People started seeing light in the windows every now and then, but whenever someone arrived to check it, they always saw the house locked, sealed and empty. Well, I already told you about the attempts to sell it. No one's eager to share it with… _something_. No one's eager to even come anywhere close to it. People think this place can drive them crazy. Local Haunted Mansion," she summarized her story.

Dean folded his arms on the chest and gave her a speculative look.

"And yet you came here all alone." More a masked question than a statement.

"I made sure first that no one died here, from fear or anything else inexplicable." Bela huffed. "Besides… you don't seriously expect me to believe any of that, do you?"

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you come? Looking for something particular?" He asked innocently.

"Out of curiosity actually," as if she didn't get the nature of his interest. "I hoped to find something occult here, after all these stories and hearsay. Books maybe. Other mojo stuff. City council, or whoever owns the place now is going to sell everything by auction in the end of the month, take the house down and build a couple of new instead." Bela opened the drawer of the table and stared at the pile of white sheets of paper. "If Mrs. Charleston was a witch, she was the most boring witch ever." She shut the drawer close.

"How can you explain her disappearance then?"

Bela's story proved that the place was worth checking on after all. Dean wondered if Sam managed to reach Missouri or find any information in addition to what he had just heard. At least he was almost sure now that his hallucination wasn't a hallucination.

"Mm, she flew out of chimney, I guess."

"And of course it didn't stop you from robbing this place," he chuckled.

"These things do not belong to anyone in particular." Bela pointed out, all insulted dignity. "I don't see robbery here. "And smiled at him, all teeth. "Call in a field trip."

She was going to add that he wasn't the one to judge because, seriously, she wasn't doing anything wrong. Maybe except for trespassing. But then he was trespassing too, so they were even here. The Winchesters and their bloody credo!

But that very moment she picked another book automatically, not even out of interest. And it turned out not to be the book. Not really. Well, it was the book, initially at least, but now its pages were glued together and cut out in the center, making the whole thing look like a chest. A hiding place.

Golden heart-shaped locket winked teasingly at Bela and she anything but gasped in surprise. Couldn't believe her own eyes. Couldn't believe she actually found it.

Fully aware of Dean's presence at once, Bela looked cautiously over her shoulder and thanked God when she saw his back. She didn't feel quite comfortable about telling him the whole truth. The end was predictable of course; she'd have this interesting piece of jewelry in her possession one way or the other. Only this time she wanted to skip the bickering over high morals and crappy principles part. Didn't feel like fighting all over again. Quickly, she wrapped the locket in a handkerchief and put it into the pocket of her pants, careful not to touch the thing in case it was similar to the rabbit's foot that could have only been switched on by direct contact.

It could be interesting though, Bela admitted with a small smile. She could easily make Dean Winchester go crazy over her.

The thought struck her with unexpected sadness. It wasn't the fact that it was mean in the first place and she didn't know how to switch it off yet. No, what Bela hated the most was that using love charm was probably the only way he could…

She shook her head to stop the train of her thought before it led her too far.

"Hey, Bela, look at this!"

She jerked her head up and found him studying antique globe with faded yellowing surface, his fingers turning the sphere slowly for a better look.

"Yes, Dean, the Earth is _not_ flat."

He glared at her. "I just wanted to say that it looks very old."

"That's because some people came to it before you and made this thing." Okay, that was simply beyond her. But she kept her voice light and good-natured to make it clear she was just teasing.

"You speak like Sam." He scoffed back, wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. "Are you done here?"

Bela gave the room another appraising look and sighed with regret, for show mostly as the only thing she was interested in was now lying in her pocket. The whole trip was not that useless after all.

"I'm not going to crack the floors and walls open if that's what you ask."

He let her sarcasm slip. "Whatever. I'm starving! Do you think we can find something to eat here?"

"No one lived here for more than three decades, Dean. If there is any food left here by any chance, which I'm' not so sure about, I'm not touching it. You go ahead though. That could be interesting."

"Charming," he scoffed. "Pizza is out variant then, I guess."

Bela laughed. "Mm, of course. I'm sure they have a special delivery helicopter, for emergency situations and for Dean Winchester only."

"D'you think they don't?"

***

In the end they found a jar of coffee beans downstairs in the kitchen and an ancient grinding machine that Dean entertained himself with for a while thrilled with the fact that it was still working, after so many years.

He also retrieved a can of beans from the depths of the cupboard, which Bela refused to even comment on. He opened it anyway, out of curiosity more than anything, and grimaced at the obviously no longer edible contents, and at Bela's mischievously satisfied smile and her _I told you so_ look. Debated wringing her neck but only gritted his teeth instead.

They settled on the floor in the living room between the couch and a fireplace with their coffee. Beaming proudly like a thousand watt bulb, Dean fished a pack of butterscotch biscuits and a chocolate bar from the inside pocket of his backpack. Emergency snacks – that was what he called his junk food supplies. "You never know where you can end up," he explained to Bela, an expression of a man who had sufficient experience in being stuck far away from gas stations and cheap diners on his face.

They had a fight over the last biscuit, which Bela won on announcement that he had swallowed half of the pack before she even took her first bite. She called him a bottomless pit for good measure, ignored grumbled comment about "someone being too friggin' slow" and savored delicious pieces of sweet dough under his flaring glare, satisfied with herself. Tried to recall the last time she felt nearly ecstatic about cookies, and came to realization that the answer was never. Not like that anyway. God knows coffee wasn't really tasty, especially without cream or sugar, or both, but it was hot and somewhat filling, and together with a chocolate bar it made the world bright again.

The snowfall was almost over now although the clouds remained thick, heavy and low, promising more ahead. But the dance of flames in the fireplace made this little nuance absolutely inessential.

"It does look like a field trip," Dean agreed in the end, made it sound like a truce.

He found a deck of cards in his backpack when Bela offered to play poker to kill the time although it only worked for half an hour or so before ending up with them shouting at one another for cheating.

"Well, what did you expect?" Bela snapped and scowled at him. "You started it first!"

"How do you know?"

"I know! And I never play fair with those who play dirty," and snorted.

"It is stupid to play just like that anyway," Dean made a face at her. "Might as well play for money. Add some challenge. It would've made sense at least."

"Money?" Bela smiled, batted eyelashes at him. "Do you have any to stake?"

"Actually, I was planning to win," he beamed.

"Ha! Not even funny, Dean! Okay, I'd accept biscuits as a stake, if you had some more. But you don't. Unfortunately."

He gave her another glare and made a mental note to be more considerate about his supplies the next time, just in case. Not that he seriously thought it was necessary. First of all, it didn't look like he was going to spend several hours in Bela's company any time soon. Or ever, speaking of that. It was even less probable than his chance to break the bloody deal and…

And he didn't want to start thinking about his imminent damnation again. Not really.

They spent another twenty minutes arguing over strip-poker, Dean's brilliant idea, alternate to money. He called it a fair trade, as he was a hundred percent positive that Bela had her moment and enjoyed her time the previous night when he was helpless and couldn't defend himself from her manipulations. Insulted and snorting, she called him a pervert, chin tipped high, all royal dignity.

"What's' the gain in strip-poker for me anyway? There's hardly any part of you left that I haven't seen yet," gave him a long once-over, lingering her glace at his muscular arms, as if in admiration. She met his eyes then, one brow shot up meaningfully.

Dean huffed, frustrated, his ears went red with embarrassment. And then it all seemed so ridiculously stupid that Bela was the first to burst out laughing, followed closely by Dean sniggering. She considered it a progress assuming that they didn't even pull out their guns by this time and felt oddly pleased.

"Hey, look, did you notice that they don't have TV here?" He asked then brining them back to a more civilized conversation.

Bela crossed her legs in Turkish style and started shuffling the cards. In her opinion it was a matter of pure luck that they didn't try to stuff them into each other's throats.

"What good would it do to you without electricity?"

"Well, yeah… but at all!" His forehead creased thoughtfully. "Do you think it has anything to do with witchcraft theory?"

Unable to hold it back, Bela giggled. "I think it first of all means that people whose intelligence is higher than the one of a germ do not necessarily need cheap talk-shows and porn channels to keep themselves occupied," she informed him loftily and gave Dean _that_ look, lest he miss the hint.

"Are you serious?" He sounded utterly horrified. "Jesus! No wonder everyone thought this broad was a weirdy." And shuddered. "Anyone would go crazy without a bit of entertainment."

"Speaking of entertainment," Bela stuffed the deck back into the box and put it aside, and then crouched closer to Dean. "Check up time, cowboy. Come on, let me take a look at your shoulder."

"Why?" He jerked away. "It is absolutely unnecessary!"

"Don't be such a baby! I'm not going to do anything, and anyway, it can't be worse than it was before." She rolled her eyes. "And do me a favor, go to the hospital next time."

"Last time I checked, my nurse was fat and ugly, and ugh, she kinda liked me," Dean cringed at the memory. But he pulled down left sleeve of his button-up shirt all the same. If Florence "Bela" Nightingale wanted to have fun, why the hell not? He could give her that.

The idea proved to be wrong almost immediately though. Subtle touch of her fingers as she rolled up short sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal several layers of neat bandages made him stiffen and catch his breath. Dean swallowed and turned away when Bela leaned closer and her hair tickled the skin on his arm.

"How did you get in all this?" He realized that the question slipped out only when she paused for half a second.

"You passed out gracefully right into my arms, Dean, remember? I couldn't resist."

He blinked surprised by her reply. "No, I mean… How did you get to know about the things? Saw a monster in the closet?"

"You mean the monsters in the closets really exist?" She asked back lightly. Made it sound like a joke because she didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to even think about it. He was curious. She could understand that. In his place she would most likely be curious, too. She only wasn't sure he'd really like to know her story. She didn't want to explain, wasn't sure she could find right words, and it was highly doubtful he could ever see it through her eyes. That was the problem. "I have a long story of my own," Bela added when no questions followed as if he was waiting for the first move – well, word – from her. Made it sound apologetic and somewhat promising, like _Not now but let me think, maybe some other time_, although she knew almost for sure that this other time would probably never come.

Dean nodded curtly, and there was understanding in his nod that didn't escape her attention. "So, what's the verdict?" He cleared his throat.

"You probably won't even have a scar," she told him putting the bandages back, her hands moving around his shoulder with sure accuracy. "I'm sort of proud of myself, you know. First try, and what a result!"

"What do you mean – first try?"

He whipped his head around, movement as swift as a flash of lightning.

And her face was there, so close. Much closer than he'd expected, barely two inches away from his; fire-flames dancing in her hair, reflecting in her eyes, making them sparkle like gemstones. And what were they talking about again?

The moment seemed to last forever, none of them moved. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean was fully aware that the best idea probably was to pull back but he missed his chance, and the next thing he knew was that her hand brushed lightly down his cheek and around his neck and her lips were on his, kissing him as gently as he could ever have imagined.

She tasted so sweet and felt so good that he couldn't help but wonder how he managed to hold out this long. Dean helped her free his right arm off his button-up shirt and groaned quietly when her fingers trailed up his chest and around his shoulders sending electric shock through his entire body.

"Sorry," Bela whispered barely audibly against his mouth when her hand came across his bandage. Reminded herself to be more careful.

But he only pulled her closer and half into his lap. Eyes fluttered shut, Bela ducked her head to press her lips to his neck and Dean was a step away from losing his mind when he breathed in delicate smell of her skin and flowery scent of her hair. Behind his own heavy breath he heard sharp intake of hers when he buried his face into soft mass of her curls, felt her lips curve into small smile. His hands slid down her arms and then around her waist and under her shirt to run along smooth skin of her back. She leaned back for the barest of moments only to find his lips with hers again, his face in her hands, her back arched up to him, fingers rumpling his short hair.

And this was when full and horrible awareness came to him making him wish he died instead. Figuratively speaking.

Less than six months left, Dean told himself. Less than six months left, and she didn't know about it. Moreover, he didn't want her to know. He didn't want her sympathy or anything. Didn't want to explain the things he wasn't sure he understood himself. Didn't want to cause any more pain. He could barely stand seeing Sam and Bobby, and their desperate hope for something, and their grasping at straws and following every half-lead even when they knew that it was nothing. He simply couldn't put one more person through it. Didn't want to leave more destruction behind because the truth was that there was no way out, not this time. Didn't want to say one more goodbye.

Truthfully, he had no reasons to care about Bela Talbot, or her opinion, or whatever, but apparently he did. It was something new, and probably something that he should have stayed away from.

And it suddenly turned out that he cared enough not to let it happen.

Bela felt the change in him instantly. She pulled away to look him in the face and as soon as their eyes met and long before he opened his mouth she knew what he was going to say. Determination, that was it. Oh, Lord, what was she thinking!

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, and God knew he meant it wholeheartedly. If only things were different. If on you they—

If only _he_ had time.

Bela dropped her gaze and looked away, somewhere to the right from him but pretty much into nowhere. The wall of ice that grew between them within a second was almost tangible and much ticker and higher than ever before. Unbearable.

She slid off his lap and away from him flushing with embarrassment, feeling empty and lost all of a sudden, and oddly cold, too, except for her cheeks that seemed to heat up on the instant.

"Listen, I--" Dean started in a momentary rush of confidence, half-way to actually deciding to open up and tell her the truth, or something else; to fix the things somehow, explain her something that he couldn't explain even to himself because he definitely didn't want to leave it like this. Everything looked so different from her point of view. So wrong, and he couldn't…

He anything but jumped when his cell phone rang. Missed two more rings before snatching it from the couch. "Sam?"

Still looking anywhere but at him Bela moved even farther away, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and stared at the fire, but curiosity pinned her to the spot. She felt like fleeing, but where could she go? There was hardly any place within this bloody house that would be far enough away from him. Felt Dean shooting quick glances at her out of the corner of his eye and pretended that she didn't care.

"_Hey, Dean, listen, good news…_"

"Uh-huh, really?" He wasn't actually listening, too distracted, too… something. Doubted that any news could be good enough to make anything look better.

"_They cleaned the roads. I'm on my way_."

"Oh… Yeah? Good. Finally." Dean said back rather absently hoping that it was okay since he wasn't quite capable of any other reaction right at the moment. Threw another glance at Bela but she was looking ahead of herself.

"_How are you going there?_"

"Mm, fine." Depending on what to compare it with, he added to himself.

"_Hey, would you like me to grab pizza or something?_"

"Sure." He could have sworn that Bela smirked as if she could hear not only his part, but the whole conversation. 'Course she couldn't. Hopefully. Or maybe his one-word answers sounded pretty dumb, which made Dean even more uncomfortable, if it was possible. Maybe she didn't even smirk. Maybe…

"_Okay, then, see you soon, dude_," cheerful, as any other person who finally broke out of forced confinement, Sam hung up.

"See you," Dean muttered back when it was too late for his brother to hear.

Bela suppressed a sigh and it turned into a rather convulsive intake of breath. Speaking of things she hated about the holidays. All these miracles, and magic of the moment, and wishes coming true, and whatever else most people were so utterly fond of – all this was just a bunch of crap. In real life Santa did not exist and wishes never came true. She was a fool. A blind fool to say more. Obviously, Dean Winchester hated her more than he wanted her, and if there was anything she could do to change it, Bela was undoubtedly not aware of it. What a cheerful thought! Her Christmas wish had just been crashed into pieces, grinded into dust and blown off by the wind.

"I should probably go," she said quietly as soon as she heard that Dean closed his phone; tried to sound casual as if nothing happened… because nothing happened. Just a kiss, nothing at all. No need to make a big deal of it, right?

Avoiding any accidental eye contact, she pushed herself off the floor. Grabbed her jacket from the back of the armchair and pulled it on while making her way down the hall and to the front door.

"No, wait, listen…" Dean's hurried steps made Bela cringe and clench her teeth tight. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to listen to his apologies or whatever else he could possibly say because it would most likely lead to another fight, and she wasn't up to fighting anymore. And deep inside, or maybe not so deep, she knew that if he tried to make a crack or turn the whole situation into a joke she'd just… God, she had no idea what she'd do and she didn't want to find out. "You don't have to…"

"It's okay. I want to get out of here before another storm burst out." She paused. "Your brother is going to be here in no time." Left out the part about not wishing to spend another day in the company of _both_ Winchesters. "Besides, I've lost enough time here already, absolutely for nothing." Maybe with the exception of a locket but he didn't need to know about it.

Bela stopped at the very door and turned to look at him for the first time wondering again about fate and coincidences and other things that she normally never bothered to think about. Eyes moved up to his face memorizing it just in case. He looked terribly tired despite all bravado he demonstrated over the last couple of hours; he needed to shave and to sleep, in any order. But he was still Dean, somewhat shamefaced and blushing at the moment. He did look apologetic, and it made Bela feel better, if anything about misery could be better at all. But he kept the distance between them, and that made her feel worse.

He dropped his eyes first and stared at the toes of his shoes, or at the floor, she couldn't say, cleared his throat. "You really don't have to go, you know." And she failed to get what exactly he wanted to say by that, looking as uncomfortable and edgy as he did.

But instead of coming up with something quick and snarky Bela looked away, too. And then, "Do we really have to keep looking back all the time?"

It took Dean a couple of seconds to process her question in his head. And he chuckled ruefully then. Back. God, if everything was so simple he wouldn't even think twice!

She was waiting for his answer though, and suddenly he told the truth. "It's not _back_, it's _ahead_ I'm worried about." Caught her glance and held it.

"Right," Bela mumbled, whatever he meant, and opened the door eager to escape and cursing herself for bringing up the subject at all. As if the fact that he _dumped_ her in his charming and graceful manner wasn't enough to throw him out of her mind for good!

Cool air rushed into the house and stirred her hair. A cure of a kind to her pink cheeks.

"Um, Bela…" He paused. "Thanks."

"Forget it," she breathed out without looking back, and closed the door soundlessly behind her.

Didn't even slam it. Dean cringed. He wished she slammed it in his face, or shouted at him, or… anything, instead of leaving like this and making him feel like a mean son of a bitch.

She was a terrible pain in his ass, true, and most of time she was around he wanted to do a favor to the humanity and put an end to her existence. But he never wanted to actually _hurt_ her, not like this anyway. Surprisingly. Because if he could read people at all, one way or another, she did look hurt, didn't she?

Dean let out a long exhausted exhale and rubbed his face.

The sound of silent steps on the second floor made him cast a look at the ceiling. "Yeah, your turn now," he sighed.

Damn it! He had no other choice. He had no right to drag her into all this mess. Imagined saying goodbye to one more person and… and realized that it was a lot more than he could handle. Definitely.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Now... Comments are always love :))


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's notes**: And here I am again. Not the longest chapter, I know. I'm not updating fast, but it's just because I'm pretty busy and everything is a bit crazy lately. But I'm still spending my nights writing :))

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Missouri, Sam? Seriously?" Dean gave him a long, expecting look, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then shook his head like _whatever you mean, I don't get it_.

They were driving southwest leaving blistering cold and snow behind, watching the scenery change from unfriendly gray to vividly green and welcoming.

"Sure, Dean. She's still not answering her phone. Better check how's she doing." Sam shrugged. "Besides, I'm curious what that was all about after all."

"The house _was_ haunted," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, right, but it didn't look like it was harmful in any way. What if there was something that we missed?"

"Oh, come on, dude! Old pissed off lady sent a bronze vase right into your head! And she nearly got you. And the couch! She _shredded_ it into… well, spaghetti! And… oh, that mirror in the hallway. It just blew up, just like that! Where is _not harmful_ in that?"

"We wanted to force her out of her house, Dean," Sam pointed out. "No wonder she got mad."

"We didn't find a body, remember? She must still be there. We only calmed her down, sort of. I hope. If that thing you offered worked at all."

"There was no EMF," Sam reminded. "Not a trace."

"EMF," Dean mimicked him with a grimace. "It's not a sure thing, you know. There was no EMF even when the things were flying around."

"Yeah, whatever. What I mean it that it wasn't as harmful as… well, _then_, you know." Another shrug followed.

"Thank God," Dean muttered.

"She wasn't aggressive during the night, you told it yourself."

"Yeah, she wasn't until…" He trailed off, and then, "Oh, crap!" when realization struck him.

Bela. Of course. Couldn't keep her sticky fingers away from… whatever she took. Was it a kleptomania or what? Dean winced. Strange that he didn't think about it earlier because it seemed so damn obvious now. Mrs. _what's-her-name_ was rather friendly until Bela left, and it only meant that…

"What?"

"What?"

"_Oh, crap_. What was that about?"

"Nothing," Dean shook his head. "You're probably right. Guess we overlooked something."

But Missouri… Meaning, visiting Missouri, face to face and everything. It was something different than just following her lead. And they both knew that it wasn't idle curiosity, and not even concern for an old friend of their father that made Sam insist so passionately on the trip. Well, not only at least because the fact that she wasn't picking up her phone bothered Dean as well. It was another crazy hope of Sam's. Another lead to the dead end, that Dean was sure of.

The idea of visiting Missouri occurred to him not once, and not even twice since _that_ day. He was determined to die if required. Determined to do practically anything to save his brother, like their dad once saved him, and because it was his job to take care of Sam, no matter what. But he could admit to himself – and no himself only, despite of all things he was saying – that he never gave up hoping. Never was keen on accepting inevitable death. Not such kind of death. He didn't want to die. And as long as he didn't know for sure he could hope…

Missouri and her psychic abilities could have put an end to everything. He longed to go and find out, and yet he feared to face the truth. She wouldn't lie if he asked her directly. Not in a situation like this. Dean could easily imagine her soft voice and sad eyes and sympathetic expression of the face and "I'm sorry". That's why it's been six months now, and he never called her, not once. Still so not ready to surrender. Couldn't imagine living through another day if the answer was "No".

"I'm sorry about yesterday, Dean," Sam's voice broke through his thoughts.

Confused, Dean blinked, "About what?" wondering if Sam kept on talking while he was busy preparing for his own death and he missed the whole thing.

"It was Christmas Eve yesterday, you know." Considerate enough not to mention the word _last_. "I probably shouldn't have left you alone."

Dean chuckled. "And we're two family holidays fans!" On a snort. "Normally we wouldn't even notice it, unless Grinch decided to steal Christmas for real and we needed to catch this green jerk. No need to make a fuss about it, Sammy. "

San smirked, then stared out the windshield at the road that seemed pretty endless at that point. "Well, yeah, but you know… It was fun, back then when we kids." His lips quirked into a smile as if on the will of their own. "Remember dad sneaking into… um, well, mostly they were motel rooms, with a handful of gifts. Tired and yet happy that he made it in time. When he was making it to us at all of course," he added ruefully.

"Yeah," Dean's features softened as memories from the past started flashing before his mind's eye. "I remember that you believed that Santa Clause was real until you turned nine." He gave Sam a _I-can't-friggin'-believe-it-that-this-guy-is-my-brother_ sidelong look. "Good thing that you haven't been much to school, you know, with us traveling and everything. You'd be such a jerk!"

"Hey!" Sam protested. "I knew the monsters were real. I had more reasons to believe that Santa existed too than any other average kid."

"Oh, sure," Dean drawled, and then sighed, sadly and good-naturedly. "It was a great time all the same."

Sam nodded, both of them thinking one and the same thing – the key word was _was,_ and it was hardly possible to bring good times back again. Dean was going to die in only half a year, and the next Christmas Sam would spend all on his own, regardless. Grasping at straws, that's what it was, this whole trip. Grasping at memories, too. Half a year was nothing compared with the whole life he could have had instead. And the worst part of it was that the time was flying faster than ever before. Each day seemed shorter than the previous one, and there was no way to slow it down. No way!

Dean raised the volume of the radio and leaned back into the softened leather of the seat, humming something under his breath, his healthy hand resting leisurely on the steering wheel.

The whole situation – miles behind and miles ahead, Sam on the passenger's seat staring out the window at the peaceful countryside, never knowing what could be waiting for them in the end – was as normal and familiar to him as daily routine of working nine to five was to most people. It felt familiar, as if it was something constant. Something that never could change. Only now Dean caught himself on the thought that he was attempting to see something that he'd never seen before, memorize as many details as he only could knowing perfectly in the back of his mind that it might as well be the last time he was following this route.

He hated thinking about it.

"You okay, Dean?"

Sam's unexpected question made him wonder whether he'd given himself away.

"Sure," lightly and with a smirk. "Why?"

Sam hesitated. "You look… upset." He paused. "Listen, if it is about holidays, we can think something out, what do you think? It's not too late yet."

"Aw, come on!" Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, dude, really! Like I care about all this freakin' fluff stuff. Please!" He made a funny face. "Besides, we've got things to do." His hand left steering wheel for half a second to thump Sam in the shoulder. "We can arrange turkey if you insist though."

Sam didn't look entirely convinced. Perhaps it was overly cheerful carefree that screwed everything up, Dean guessed. Yet, Sam responded with a rather wry grin, "Sure."

***

The house looked exactly the way it looked two years ago. Two-storied, fresh painted, with a small porch and rocking chair on it although it was almost impossible to imagine Missouri sitting in it and enjoying herself. The only seasonal additions were a string of lights snaking around the porch poles and a Christmas wreath on the door, a contrast between bright green and red made it look even more cheerful.

The door burst open before either of them could knock as if Missouri was standing right behind it waiting for them to come up these four steps.

"The Winchester boys." Hands pressed to her breast in silent awe, she smiled kindly, eyes darting between the brothers. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Was it? Wasn't she supposed to know they'd drop in?

"Hey there, Missouri!"

"Hello, Missouri!"

They beamed like two Christmas gifts wrapped in shining foil, sincere to the core, lips stretched from ear to ear.

The three of them watched each other appraisingly for a long moment. "Sorry for showing up like that, unannounced and everything." Sam cleared his throat. Put apologetic smile on his face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sam Winchester! You're always welcome to my house." She seemed to be insulted by his excuses.

"Thank God you're okay," Sam breathed out then, relieved.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She frowned.

"But you… you never answered the phone after we talked," he gave her studying once-over as if looking for something. For injures probably. "We were worried."

Missouri's crumpled forehead smoothing by the end of the phrase, small smile returned to her face.

"I guess I owe you an apology here," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have known you'd react like that." Looked at them in turns. "It was awfully rude of me not to find a way to contact the two of you again." Eyes moved to Sam then, and she explained. "There was a storm. It damaged phone lines. I'm afraid I'm still isolated from the rest of the world. Sort of."

Dean smacked Sam in the arm and gave him a _I told you!_ look; brows arched high and an expression of a serial killer in search for a new victim on his face.

Not that he was entirely opposed to the visit but his worries about his nearest future and most likely imminent death and Missouri probably knowing how this future and his death were connected to each other kinda ruined the whole joy of finding their friend pretty much alive and in one piece. He tried not to think about it.

"I am really glad you came though." Missouri stepped forward, arms thrust open, and gave them a bear hug, squeezing them so tight in her embrace that they cringed.

"Thanks," Sam muttered trying to count his possibly broken ribs.

She patted him on the cheek with motherly expression on her face and then gave a long apprehensive look to Dean, brows furrowed. "How is your wound going, honey?"

She knew. Of course she knew. How could she not? Well, at least he made sure that her abilities were still working.

"Fine… hm, great!" On his best smile ever, feeling Sam watching him, too.

Missouri's smile widened. She nodded in appreciation. "I see your friend did a good job then."

"A… friend?" Sam blinked in misunderstanding and stared at Dean.

"A friend?" Dean blinked, too, and started at Missouri, his jaw dropped for better effect, all innocent surprise. "You mean that… _ghost_ there? Yeah, I guess." Smile widened.

Missouri tilted her head to the side, one brow shot up, something that Dean would most likely miss in any other situation. He could practically feel her in his thoughts.

"Oh, where are my manners!" She shook her head with deep self-disappointment, and then grabbed the brothers by their arms and dragged them inside on wholehearted, "Come on in!" And it was a miracle that the three of them didn't get stuck in the narrow entrance hallway.

She slammed the door behind them, not at all uncomfortable with a rush hour in the corridor. Looked at Sam then. "There's beer in the fridge," on a vague wave of a hand. "Feel free to help yourself with a bottle, Sam."

He got the dismissal in the gesture and disappeared in the depths of the house without a word. Obviously, Missouri wanted to have a word with Dean in private.

"And grab one for your brother," she called after him and then turned to Dean. "You go with me now, boy. We have to talk."

She pushed him into the living room and gestured towards the couch with a whole ton of cushions on top of it. Lowered herself into the old and cozy-looking armchair in front of him.

Smile still where it was meant to be, Dean slumped backwards nearly drowning in the softness. He tried to look casual but his eyes were mostly wandering around the room, sliding along the walls instead of looking at the woman who, he could feel it, was watching him intensely. Tried to keep his mind blank, too. One on one with the only person who could give him the answers to his questions, Dean regretted by the second that Sam retreated so cowardly and left him alone to deal with all this mess. He was even less sure now that he wanted to hear whatever Missouri had to say than he was before.

"What the hell do you think you've done, Dean Winchester?" Missouri leaned forward across low coffee-table. Her voice was a hiss, loud enough for him to hear anger and disapproval, but yet too quiet for Sam to catch a sound, if only he wasn't standing right at the door.

Dean eyes anything but popped out of his scull. "What do you mean?" He leaned forward, too, confused and wondering. Tried to recall what she could be referring to. They've been here for what? Five minutes? Less? Too little time to give reasons for such reaction, unless it was the initial intention, and since it wasn't nothing came to his mind.

"I wonder how you could screw everything up like that," she rolled her eyes.

"Listen, Missouri, I know that you know everything, but if you mean the deal…"

"Don't you fool with me, boy," she interrupted him, snorting. "You've got your brother for that. I mean, what exactly did you do to scare poor girl away?"

A girl?! Dean blinked.

And then…

Oh. _Oh_…

"Bela," he chuckled and leaned back again. Looked out the window first, then at his hands clenched on his lap and then at Missouri again. She was right. There was no point to pretend around her if she could easily find out whatever she wanted to know just by looking into his head.

Missouri looked satisfied with the fact that he caught the train of her thought without further pretences. Her eyes were sad though as if she really meant it when she said that he screwed everything up, whatever it was. And Dean suddenly felt tired and weary and… and he just wanted this all to be over. Wondered if he could afford a week of sleep and move on then like there was no deal and no nothing. Just pretend that the damn thing did not exist until… then. Until his time came.

"You know about the deal, right?" He sighed after a while, before Sam was back. One more person to persuade that he knew what he was doing when he agreed for one year only? No, thanks! Skeptical Sam was more than enough. It seemed to Dean sometimes that Sam seriously thought that somebody forced his brother into signing the contract, figuratively speaking.

Missouri nodded. "And I'm not going to tell you that it was the wrong decision."

"Thanks," Dean smiled wryly. And then, "Did you… did you have a vision about me or something?" Barely in a whisper and knowing that he _had_ to know. Now. "It's not that I'm trying to make it out, no. It's just… Is there anything--?"

She frowned. "It's not working like this, boy." Her voice was soft and endlessly kind. "You did the right thing, and it is going to stay right for as long as you believe that it was right. And trust me, it really counts for something. But it doesn't mean that you have to be all on your own in that."

He got the hint.

"Bela is kinda the last company I'd prefer to spend my time with," he smirked. Had to look away as if a row of pictures on the wall caught his attention all of a sudden since it was easy to keep his mind shut to everything that he actually thought and felt about Bela without meeting Missouri's peering gaze.

"I'm not talking about _company_, Dean," Missouri insisted. "I'm talking about help."

"Gotta agree with that," he conceded her point with a nonchalant shrug. "She can easily help me to get used to hell. Or," he continued hurriedly when he saw that she was about to object, "she can even make me anticipate the death. Is that the point?" Okay, maybe that was too harsh. She was worried after all. He could see that her concern was genuine. But there was also some… regret in her eyes and Dean had a strong belief that he knew what it was about, and honestly, he didn't want to talk about it, or hear her say the words out loud. He knew it from the start. "There's nothing, right?"

"Look, Dean…"

"No, it's okay, really. Not that I didn't know it."

"Can I finish, please? I know you're upset, but your manners…What would your father say?"

Dean could easily imagine a word or two, or ten.

"This lady friend of yours… she can help."

He snickered at the word _friend_ and ignored _lady_. It was hardly applicable to the person they were talking about. Missouri didn't know Bela well enough, or at all, hopefully, so he let it pass.

"How?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "It's not like I ask a question and get an answer, dear." She wished it was that easy though, Dean could see it on Missouri's face. "It's a little bit more complicated I'm afraid."

"It is very complicated." He grimaced. "If you know about the deal, you must know that details as well. Like that Sam's going to get killed if I try to look for a way to wiggle out." He peered intensely at her face, determination in his eyes and a hint of desperation in his voice. "How can I even think about it, Missouri? But the kid just wouldn't understand."

Her brows furrowed in disappointment. "You can be as stubborn as your father, Dean Winchester." Which sounded more like accusation than comment. "Only because I don't see anything… _specific_ about you doesn't mean that there is nothing at all, no hope. And if no one ever was persistent enough to succeed, it does not mean that it's impossible." And after a pause, "I had a better opinion of you."

It was embarrassing but he felt that he was going to blush. Thank God, Sam got stuck in the kitchen – the sounds of life coming from the outer reaches of the house assured Dean that his little brother wasn't eavesdropping on his sweet conversation with Missouri. Her reprimanding tone made him feel ashamed.

"Oh, don't tell me that the whole house thing was about…" He ran his hand through his hair. Shook his head in disbelief. "Jesus. Couldn't you just call me and tell about Bela?"

"So that you could run away?"

"Probably. Self-preservation, see."

"Well, what are you going to do, boy? Sit around and wait for them to come for you?"

"Yes, Missouri, exactly!" He faced her again. "I have the colt, and all I _can_ do not to make things worse is to sit and wait and hope that I will have a chance and enough time to shoot whoever will come to drag me down before they got me. That's it. End of story."

Wasn't as easy as he hoped. He knew what Missouri was going to say because – c'mon! – it was the only possible thing. But it felt like a punch in the gut all the same. Everything felt oddly meaningless now. Freaking hard to pretend that the world was bright and shining when you know what to wait for in the end. No one was lucky enough to come across solution so far. He knew that but kept his hopes up nonetheless, despite everything. And it suddenly turned out that he hoped much more than he was willing to admit even to himself. Fuck, it was so much worse than he feared! Like if he was living on medical ventilation and someone just came and turned it off. Yes, he knew that it was something inevitable, but when it happened it felt like it happened way too soon all the same.

Missouri must have read what he was thinking about on his face. Or in his mind most likely, since he stopped trying to keep her out. Her own face softened momentarily.

"If it is any consolation, my boy," she patted him on the hand, "it was meant to happen. Don't blame yourself or anyone else. It's just destiny. Some things about it can't be changed. But our future is still in our own hands. Remember about it." She paused, tentative eyes studying his face.

"Seriously, Missouri, we came because we were worried, not because of…" he trailed off, cleared his throat and waved his hand like _you know what I mean_.

"I'm glad that you came, Dean, no matter what the reason was. Both of you. And one more thing," she waiting till his attention was all hers, "people are not always who they want to seem."

He shrugged with pretended indifference. Dead end. He didn't want Bela involved. Besides, there was perhaps no way on Earth he could _afford_ her help, and she definitely had no other reasons to participate in saving his pure soul. Missouri had already been mistaken once in the past when she thought that the spirit was out of their house the last time they worked together. She could be mistaken now, too. God, how could Bela possibly help? Insane!

"Just promise me that you will at least think about it," Missouri insisted when he didn't say anything.

Dean heard Sam's footsteps in the corridor, obviously approaching, and nodded quickly. "Sure," swearing to dear God to erase whatever he had just heard from his mind as soon as he was out of this house.

Sam hovered in the doorway a bit longer than necessary as if assessing whether he was interrupting something important. A glance of complete understanding between him and Missouri couldn't escape Dean's attention. Missouri nodded then to him – a gesture that was easy to miss; Sam didn't though – and he made his way into the living room to take a seat on the couch beside Dean.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean grabbed a bottle of ice-cold beer and took a swig. "Missouri's been filling me in here on how the things have been going lately," he lied lightly. Ignored Missouri's barely audible hem, which was hard to interpret. Sounded very much like disagreement. "We just moved on to her latest request." Gave her a meaningful look. "Right?"

"Oh, really?" Sam didn't sound at all thrilled, as if he knew that it wasn't true. But he looked expectedly at Missouri all the same.

"So, you were saying that someone _could_ get hurt if we didn't ask this old lady to free her residence," Dean prompted. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," she nodded, her voice pretty dry.

"See?" He turned to look at Sam and patted him on the back nearly sending his brother flying over the coffee table and out of the window. "We're damn heroes again!" And beamed.

"Dean, stop it, okay?" Sam shook his head not buying his artificial excitement. Tired eyes fixed on Missouri's grave face.

"It's nothing, Sam," Dean looked down at his beer. "I told you it was nothing. I'm going to die," he breathed out so heavily that it was almost impossible to make out the words.

"No, you're not! Ruby…"

"Oh, spare me, please!"

"She said there was something…"

"No, Sam, she didn't say _anything_. Except for a bunch of lies, which you were so eager to buy. And… she's a demon, for God's sake!" Dean's grip on the bottle was so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Give me a reason – one freaking reason! – why would she want to help us. Huh? Why would she need to have me alive at all?" Sam dropped his eyes. "That's the thing, Sammy."

Missouri's face was enough to answer all Sam's unasked questions. He looked absolutely destroyed, crashed. _Aged_. All hoped gone with a _poof!_ and only desperation was left behind. It felt like they were going through the desert for days, led by palm-trees of beautiful oasis ahead only to find out in the end that it was a mirage. Emptiness. Nothing.

Dean threw a quick look at Sam's frozen form out of the corner of his eye feeling terribly sorry for his ruined hopes as if it was his fault that his brother didn't hear what he wanted to hear. The whole thing was even more difficult for Sam, he realized. His hopes were stronger. He _believed_ when Dean preferred to stay realistic. And now he was left defeated by the enemy that couldn't be beaten, which made Dean wish once again that he'd found a way to keep his deal secret from his brother. Knew that Sam would never forgive him for that but it was worth it. Dean wondered if this new knowledge was going to change Sam's determination and felt an overwhelming relief from the fact that it wasn't bloody likely that they'd ever trade places.

Having to die so his brother could live – in Dean's opinion it was a fair trade.

And then all of a sudden he decided that he didn't regret coming here. Speaking of things he'd never do again or people he'd never see, it seemed awfully rude to die without saying goodbye to Missouri. He owed her after all, one way or another.

"Whatever you say, Dean," he breathed out, voice too low for Missouri to catch it.

"Everything quiet here?" Dean broke the silence after a while since it turned out that he was the reason of it and now he felt responsible for changing it somehow.

"In your department – definitely!" Missouri laughed easily and lightly; a skill perfected by years of practice and all these times when she had to deliver bad news. It sounded nice all the same. "But you're welcome to stay for as long as you want." She looked at the two of them in turns.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"You know what?" She stood up and gave each of them another speculative look. "For all the trouble I caused I owe you at least one good home mean. You wouldn't dare to insult me by refusing to stay for dinner. It's holidays after all."

Dean nodded, smiling. Ice broken, he felt quite comfortable again, glad that the most difficult part was over and now they could move on to something more pleasant. Something that wasn't a hamburger in a cheap gas-station diner. Even if he got half of what he optimistically hoped for it would still be worth making all this way here. And wasn't it the best time to start appreciating small joys?

Sam smiled weakly, and nodded, too.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Comments are always appreciated :)) Hope you will tell me what you think now that you made it this far anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's**** notes:** And here I am again, counting the days till the end of another cruel break between episodes. Some people just don't understand that such inhuman torture is not legal :))

Well, dig in!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Voice mail message caught Bela half way back to Queens when she was driving home from another meeting with another client. She was glad she got rid of an old mask supposedly used by shamans for rituals and thus cursed by those who were killed during the aforementioned rituals. The thing was utterly freaking her out even when lying locked in the safe, whereas three hundred grand she got for it were another thing entirely, and a comforting one, too. Three hundred grand were worth traveling across four states and dealing with less than unpleasant customer.

Bela contemplated spending several next days doing nothing and just enjoying herself. Thought about turning off all her phones and just sleeping, or she could even fly somewhere. For a week or so. She imagined herself lying on the beach with ice-cold Margarita in her hand and feeling soft breeze caressing her body, and anything but moaned in anticipation of such pleasure. But the message got her, for the reason she failed to define at once. It wasn't special in any particular way, just a polite request to meet, meaning potential deal, meaning more money. It was tempting.

Besides, the weather was fine and the music was good. Bela raised the volume of the radio and turned to the right heading now to the south-west instead of north-east. It could be interesting.

It was probably the destination that caught her attention and intrigued her more than anything else, she guessed.

_Lawrence, Kansas_.

Was it a coincidence?

Well, what else?

And yet Bela couldn't hold back a chuckle when she heard the address.

It's been over a month now since she heard anything from him, or about him, or whatever. Not that she cared, she thought, maybe was curious a little bit, but that was all. Bela had absolutely no reasons to think about Dean Winchesters. Furthermore, she had a least two hundred of them to forget about him for good. And on some level she actually wished she did because, really, it was the best thing to do ever. First of all, thinking about Dean wasn't practical or perspective, and she knew that it wouldn't lead her anywhere. It was a waste of time and, speaking of emotional part, nerves. Experience proved that on his list of priorities she probably was on the second place from the end. And honestly, she couldn't see a way to change it.

And yet… plans and sleep forgotten, she was driving to Lawrence, partly because she was curious to see a place where…

Okay, she wasn't interested in anything related to Dean Winchester! Not at all, not even a tiny bit. She decided to go to Lawrence only because she could get some money for it and, seriously, her plans for the weekend sucked. Better keep her mind occupied. That was it, nothing else.

The house was Bela's first shock. Too distracted by her own thoughts and maybe by looking around while driving through Dean Winchester's hometown – which wasn't impressive at any rate – she nearly passed by the required residence but luckily managed to hit the brakes just in time. And nearly dropped her jaw to her very lap as soon as she looked out the windshield. That definitely wasn't what she expected to see. Not even anywhere close.

Bela double-checked the address before cutting the engine off and getting out of the car to take a better look. It must have been a mistake. Or somebody's very bad joke, that Bela was sure of.

The house could have belonged to her elderly auntie – if she ever had one – but there was no way on Earth one of her regular clients would live in a place like this, all so neat and perfect as if it wasn't real. Right from the cover of the _Ideal Home_ magazine or something like that. Something from another life, different from hers. Gotta be a joke!

Jumping back into the car and winding away was tempting. But it wasn't professional. So, she straightened her skirt, put on her best _friendly but strictly business_ expression and made her way to the porch and up four steps. After so many hours of driving she at the very least deserved to know whose joke it was.

The door swung open before Bela lowered her hand after ringing the bell. She startled out of surprise but her lips stretched into a smile automatically all the same, instinctively more than anything.

The woman who opened the door frowned for a blink of a moment and then beamed – a mixture of relief and something resembling happiness on her face; like she was being expected, Bela thought – which only made her a two hundred percent sure that she got the address wrong or something. Not even anywhere close to the reaction she got used to. Bela hoped she succeeded in hiding her surprise. Wondered if she was mistaken for someone else.

All her half-formed assumptions were sent to hell though as soon as the woman opened her mouth to speak.

"Bela Talbot, I presume?" Only it didn't sound like a question. More like a statement. Like she was a hundred percent positive about that.

Professional to the very marrow of her bones, Bela nodded, almost sure that nothing about her revealed her puzzlement. It was getting interesting!

"Good afternoon," voice level and polite; smile as wide and open as possible, as if they were the best friends ever and it was the most natural thing for Bela to drop in for a cup of tea every once in a while. Something – intuition maybe – told her that such line of behavior was the most appropriate in this particular situation. "Nice to meet you, Mrs.…?" Her brows shot up expectedly.

"Missouri Moseley," the woman shook Bela's hand and then pulled her into the house. "Come on in, dear. I'm glad you made it here so fast."

And Bela had an impression that Missouri wanted to thank her for coming, as though she wasn't all that she she'd show up at all.

She swallowed a string of her questions and simply followed the woman down the corridor gawking dumbly around and seriously contemplating fleeing. Like, _seriously_! Family pictures on the walls? Handmade tablecloths on the coffee table in the living room? Gee!

What on Earth a woman like Missouri Moseley could possibly need from her, Bela wondered.

Missouri Moseley. The name wasn't familiar to her. She would remember it without a doubt if she ever heard it in the past. Had no problem with remembering the names of each of her clients. She wasn't in the business then. Not like most of her customers at least. And she didn't look like one of them either. Bela didn't miss somewhat cautious look that Missouri gave her but it wasn't _trust no one but yourself_ glance she saw most of time; more like a natural reaction of an average person who met someone for the first time and didn't know them well enough to make judgments or conclusions. It was… unfamiliar.

Bela was still out of decent mental explanations by the time they reached the kitchen. Mm, okay. A _kitchen_? Really?

"Take a seat, dear," Missouri gestured towards the table. "Feel like home. Tea?" he brows raised in anticipation of an answer.

Bela nodded slowly not quite capable of saying anything. _Feel like home_. The house surprised her; Missouri's reaction left her confused, but… _feel like home_? Oh, Lord, that was… was…

She lowered herself onto the chair and smiled despite herself when she spotted black cat lying curled on another one, purring softly. She resisted a wish to reach her hand out and stoke its back but… She was on business here, for God's sake!

The cat woke up to the motion and raised its head. Ears twitched and yellow eyes stared at the newcomer with curiosity. Yeah, she missed her cat badly, Bela thought. Missed being needed by at least one living creature in the world, which felt odd but it was somehow filling the emptiness inside of her. Missouri's cat lost interest in Bela almost immediately though and got back to what it was busy with before being interrupted – to sleeping.

Bela put her briefcase onto the floor beside her chair and rested her arms on the table. She watched Missouri fetching two china cups out of the cupboard and arranging tea for the two of them, considering. It didn't look like a trap. She didn't feel danger, and that, of all things, she was very good at. And yet she couldn't see any logic in what was going on either. On some level she wished they were over with the ceremonies before she went crazy with curiosity.

"Chamomile?" Missouri questioned. Her voice and movements were sure and calm. Bela was surprised not to register any nervousness, which made her suspect that the woman wasn't all that well informed about the nature of her business. Well, _that_ could explain a lot.

"If it is not a trouble," Bela replied.

"Not at all, honey," Missouri's laugher was light and catching. She was without a doubt one of such people who could make tension leave the room only by walking into it. All _confide in me_ by nature.

She came up to the table several minutes later and placed a cup of steaming tea in front of Bela. Went back to the counter and came back with her own cup and a plate of homemade cookies before taking her own seat across the table. It all looked like some kind of ritual, something that ought to be done before getting to the point.

Or maybe it was simple hospitality. Bela couldn't say. Lack of experience, see. She sipped at her tea under Missouri's studying gaze and nodded in appreciation, which was sincere to the core because the tea was the best thing she ever tasted. It made Missouri smile with satisfaction and relax completely.

"I bet you wonder why I called you and asked you to come," Missouri started, voice smooth and friendly.

Bela let her smile widen. She looked around small and clean kitchen, hesitated for a moment and then helped herself to the cookie. If pastry were as good as tea it would be a crime not to try it. "Among other things," she admitted, definitely referring to the overall entourage. "I'm intrigued."

Pleased, Missouri let out a giggle. Then her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head and regarded Bela somewhat appraisingly, as if considering something or another. "Rumors are, you can get anything." Without further walking around.

Bela's brows shot up. She took another sip while processing the phrase in her head, giving herself some time to come up with the best answer. "Well, not _anything_," she corrected Missouri modestly. It was true after all. Her recourses were not _that_ unlimited to speak of _anything_. "But much."

"I'm sure you can help me." And she did look like she was sure, Bela could see and hear it. Being a good player, she had a sense for bluff.

"Depends on what you need," she shrugged all the same. Depends on how much you can pay, too, but she didn't say that one. Not yet. Wanted to hear the whole story first. Mentioning the money could ruin the conversation.

"A book," Missouri paused. Bela waited patiently. Didn't even let her comment about whether it was a cook book slip out. That wouldn't have sounded professional. And then Missouri said the name, in Latin. Bela blinked, surprised. "Here," Missouri reached out for a notepad, scrabbled something quickly on the top page, tore it out and pushed it to Bela across the table. Took a cookie for herself on the way back and bit a piece while waiting for Bela to read several short words.

Bela, for her part, peered at the neat handwriting. Had to read it three times before the meaning kicked in; and didn't even try to keep her jaw in place this time. It was anything but a cook book. Moreover, it was anything but what she expected to see. Made her reassess her new acquaintance completely. There was more to Missouri Moseley than one could see at first then. Or more than one was allowed to see.

"So?" Missouri prompted her. She must have decided that she'd given Bela enough time to make a decision.

Bela raised her eyes, locked her gaze with Missouri's intentionally keeping her mind and face blank. "I can find then one," on a nod, all business now. "But you… you know what you're asking for, do you?" Didn't even make an attempt to keep the suspicion out. It was a powerful thing that Missouri wanted to get. Could be a dangerous toy in the hands of amateur, and a woman sitting in front of her didn't look like a professional black witch to Bela. Didn't feel like one either. "You know what kind of book is it, Mrs. Moseley?"

Serious black magic. Bela heard of it although she never came across this one and never met anyone owning it. With spells and stuff, that book, rumors were, could help take control over the Devil himself, alongside with all possible minor demons and evil spirits. From where she was standing, Bela could see no reason why Missouri Moseley would need to get hold of such kind of thing. It was pure power in the hands of knowing person, capable of starting a real Apocalypse, and it wasn't even an overestimation.

"Just Missouri, honey. And yes, I know what kind of book it is!" Her soft laughter told Bela that she didn't take the question as an insult. What a relief! "You really can find it?"

Bela leaned closer to her over the table. "You sure you can afford it?" She asked in return. "Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost you?"

"Money is not a problem," Missouri assured her with confidence.

"Really? Well, usually it is a problem number one," Bela commented all the same although she believed Missouri on that. "But if you say so…" She leaned back on her chair again.

"It's a deal then?" Missouri inquired, brows up.

"Absolutely!" She flashed her best brilliant smile. "No promises, of course," she added, serious at once. Paused. "But I'll see what I can do for you."

Black cat stretched lazily and jumped off the chair. Still purring, it rubbed its nose against Bela's legs. To hell with professionalism – logic was not working in this situation anyway – Bela bent down and stroked it on the back, all under Missouri's gaze. She could feel it on the back of her head, assessing and expectant, like it was some kind of test or…

Or she was getting paranoiac for no particular reason, Bela cut herself off with frustration. Been living for too long following some pattern, and now anything that was falling out of clichés was freaking her out. This was getting so ridiculous!

"Well, now that we've come to an agreement, I guess I owe you an explanation," Missouri suggested. "Like about why I need this book in the first place."

Bela snapped her head up. Hoped she managed to mask her overwhelming surprise by the time their eyes met.

"Yes, of course." And smiled, all teeth.

No, never.

Rule number one – no questions, whatever she was asked to do. She was not allowed to ask anything unless it was a two hundred percent vital necessity. In all other cases Bela had no other choice but to make the best of the information her clients were willing to provide. That was what was called business approach. She was supposed to be blind, deaf, quick and exceed all possible expectations. No prying allowed. If she started asking questions she'd never last among all those sharks even for a week.

But this case was an exception, starting from chamomile tea and ending with black cat that curled up in her lap. Besides, Missouri was willing to share, and assuming _what_ exactly was the subject of their agreement Bela was curious to know the details. Out of wish to make sure that nice lady with gentle smile and soft voice wasn't planning the end of the world.

She waited patiently till Missouri refilled their cups and settled in her seat again, looking surreptitiously around the kitchen in order to memorize the details of the only homey place she'd been to in years.

"You know about the crossroads deals, do you?" Missouri started. Not really a question again.

Yet, Bela nodded. "Sure." And helped herself to another cookie. Whoa! That was getting really interesting!

Of course she knew about the crossroads deals. How could she not? Everyone who was in their business for more than five minutes knew about them. Bela called them a perfect way for fools to commit suicide. Because, seriously, only an idiot could end up without his soul out of lust, or greed, or some stupid ambitions. And then – ten short years, and _voila!_ You're damned for eternity. She couldn't get the point of it and actually didn't really want to simply because the very concept of such self-sacrifice was way beyond her.

"You know then that they are _supposedly_ unbreakable, too."

"Supposedly," Bela greed. Like one hundred percent supposedly.

"I want to break one," Missouri's voice was casual, as if they were discussing weather forecast. She sipped at her tea. Looked out the window for a moment, and then at her cup again.

Bela anything but choked over her own tea. She swallowed it before speaking again. "Break it? Really?" Unable to hold back her shock, and then, "Did you…?" Eyes, wide and unbelieving, peered at Missouri's face.

"No," she shook her head. "Let me explain it to you from the start."

Bela didn't say anything. She only went completely still, not intended to miss a word. _And be sure I'm not moving an inch_, she added mentally.

"Not all people sell their souls to realize their ambitions, believe me." And she gave Bela _that_ look, as if she knew what she was thinking about. Bela shifted uncomfortably on her seat but didn't break eye contact; didn't let anything expose her uneasiness. "You will be surprised how many of them agreed to make a deal because it was the only option. Dead end."

Bela moved her shoulder which could be interpreted as both agreement and disagreement, but said nothing not sure if Missouri expected any reaction from her at all. The fact that she still couldn't see any decent reason for eternity of hellfire was her problem after all. Dead end? Ha! If it was true, two thirds of the population of the planet would be sentenced to never-ending damnation. Or maybe they were.

"A very good friend of mine had to sell his soul to help his son. To save him from death." Missouri went on.

Bela scratched the cat on the head between the ears absently. "Wanna help him out?" Impossible. She never heard about anyone who managed to break the crossroads deal, and she heard a lot.

Missouri sighed. "Unfortunately, it is too late to help John now. And, well, there never was any time for that. At all. But then his son, poor boy…"

"Followed his father's footsteps?" Bela suggested willingly.

Didn't let the snicker out though, but Missouri must have heard it in her voice all the same if the way she looked at her with silent reproach was any indication.

"It's been a very hard time for the boy. He was consumed with guilt over his father's death. Thought it was unfair. Wrong."

"And you think it's right?" Bela inquired.

"It is life, my girl. Sometimes it is impossible to say what's right and what's wrong. Some things just happen and we have to learn to live with them."

"Life in unfair," Bela breathed out not addressing anyone in particular, just voicing bitter truth.

"And then his brother got in a trouble… It practically left Dean no choice at all." Missouri shook her head with regret.

_Dean?_ Familiar name gave Bela a start and she frowned at how her heart jumped in her chest and started beating a tad faster. What a stupid reaction! Honestly, she wasn't even sure Missouri said _Dean_. Her voice was rather low. It might have as well been… _Tim_? Probably. Most likely. Couldn't be...

Jesus, she was getting pathetic, Bela thought and anything but winced. So what now? She was going to jump at the sound of his name or anything resembling it for the rest of her life? God help her. Not pathetic. Miserable.

If Missouri paid any attention to the change in Bela's mood, she ignored it completely. And Bela hurried to take a sip of her tea to hide it. Soothing warmth started spreading all over her body almost momentarily.

"And you want to help him because--?" She prompted Missouri looking at her over the rim of her cup.

"The boy is too stubborn to help himself." She winced. "He believes that it is a normal order of things – to die for his brother the way his father died for him. Thinks it is noble in some way. Life for life."

"You don't seem to share his opinion, do you?" Bela kept her expression calm and a somewhat curious. Noted Missouri's frustration with the whole situation. But there was some hope, too. Tried to guess if it was a game, and finally decided that it wasn't. Her concern seemed to be genuine.

"I don't see a reason for going down without a fight. For giving up just like that." Missouri pointed out. "But he… he doesn't see anything that could make him fight for his life, as if after what had happened life itself doesn't worth it."

Bela watched her watching wood surface of the table, turning small spoon in her fingers. She looked like she was considering something; like the concept of not fighting was as impossible to her as the concept of selling the soul was not acceptable to Bela. She seemed absolutely world weary now, tired, worrying. And not giving up, too.

"How long have you been in this all, Missouri?" Bela asked then, eyes narrowed and intense. "I mean how long have you been aware of the… other side? Sorry, can't find better definition."

Wasn't sorry for prying though.

The look Missouri returned was long and appraising. "A while," she admitted. No specifications. Made Bela wonder if this _a while_ was a month or a lifetime. Not that it mattered…

"You must know then that there is no way out of the crossroads deal."

She didn't mean to sound cruel. Had no intention to talk her almost client out of whatever plans she had. It was none of her business, she reminded herself. And yet… it felt like her opinion mattered, as though this tea and everything was making them more than just a seller and a buyer; like they were even on some level. Not like in _friends_, but not just strangers either. Besides, she only voiced what everyone else knew. As for Bela, she knew from her own experience that it was better to keep the hopes down.

"There is always a way, dear," Missouri's smile was sad and tired, and Bela wondered how many possibilities she'd gone through before ending up here with her. Not one. Not even a dozen by the looks of it. She didn't lose her determination though. At the very least, it deserved respect. "Depending on how persistent you are in your search."

Bela nodded after a pause. "You are persistent." There was some admiration between the lines.

"Or maybe foolish." Missouri laughed. "But I want to break this… _Winchesters curse_." She grimaced at the word 'curse'. "Guess it should count for something."

Bela went stiff. All color drained off her face. "Winchesters?" Did she really hear that? Was it a joke?

Missouri didn't seem to notice anything though. She either missed Bela's… well, _gasp,_ or took it for something else. "First their mother was killed by the demon." She paused to sigh and shake her head. "Then poor John dedicated his life to revenge. He was a good father. A loving father. But maybe that wasn't what the boys needed; all this knowledge could be a hard ordeal. And now Dean is intended to die for his brother. You know what the worst part is? He really doesn't see any other options. Or doesn't want to see. Like dying is something… honorable." Another pause.

Bela froze. He stomach was flopping so violently that it was making her nauseous; hands clutched around china cup so tight that she might as well break it.

"And what then?" Missouri's voice was bitter now. "Sam is going to sell _his_ soul to drag his brother out? Vicious circle." Sounded fatalistic. Desperate.

Sam. Dean. Winchesters. Couldn't be. Couldn't be… Impossible. Gotta be a mistake. Gotta be…

"Dean Winchester."

"You know him?" Missouri inquired.

"What?" Bela snapped her head up realizing somewhat belatedly that she must have spoken the name aloud. "No, never heard," she breathed out looking Missouri in the face, expression impassive in spite of inner turmoil.

The cup in her hands was still warm and yet Bela felt that she started shivering as if she was holding a piece of ice. Practically felt chill running down her spine and spreading all over her body, making her numb, paralyzed.

"You okay, honey?" It took Missouri not more than half a minute to get that something was wrong. It was probably lack of any reaction to whatever she was saying, Bela guessed. She even reached across the table to touch Bela's hand.

It gave her a start. "I… I should probably go now… already… I guess." She stood up, chair scrapping loudly on the floor. Totally forgot about poor cat that was thrown off of her lap pretty unceremoniously when she moved. He landed soundlessly onto the paws with displeased _meow!_ and disappeared in the corridor, tail puffed. "I've gotta go…"

The kitchen, all so warm and cozy and welcoming suddenly seemed too small. Even the whole house was not big enough for Bela now and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she wouldn't be able to breathe properly until she was out of Dean bloody Winchester's hometown where he seemed to be everywhere, even assuming that he hadn't been here for ages, or so she heard.

Bela grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door, tripped over the carper in the corridor and cursed under her breath when she nearly fell to her knees. Too distracted to pay attention to anything around, that was it. In any other situation she'd be embarrassed with her uncharacteristic clumsiness but now she didn't care. She needed time and space for her thoughts to settle, otherwise she thought her head would simply explode.

Missouri caught up with her at the very front door.

"Did something happen, dear?" She gave Bela a worried look searching for the answer on her face, forehead crumpled with worry.

"No, nothing," Bela forced out the lamest imitation of a smile. "It's just…" she trailed off; cleared her throat when nothing came to her mind. Opened the door.

"But you will help me, right?" Missouri asked hurriedly as if she was afraid that Bela could simply disappear. "With the book."

Bloody hell!

"Yes, of course. I told you I will." As soon as she breathed in fresh and rather cool air she managed to pull herself together. Was even sure that her voice wasn't shaking.

"But we didn't discuss anything," Missouri reminded her. "The terms… The price."

Oh, yeah. Right. The price. God, what the hell they were talking about?

"I will start researching. Try to track the book down." Bela answered distractedly. "I'll call you as soon as I have any news, Missouri. I promise." Held her glance. "We'll discuss everything later, okay?"

And she anything but ran down the porch steps and to her car groping for the keys in the pocket of her jacket as she proceeded.

Didn't wait for Missouri's goodbye and haven't seen her smiling to her back.

***

It took Bela three hours and almost two hundred miles felt behind to start thinking again and realize that she had no idea where she was or where she was heading. She found a map in the gloves compartment, identified her location and took right turn off the highway as soon as she could – to go back home.

Her head was empty like a balloon. Bela tried to recall what she was thinking about in the last several hours while her hands and legs were working on the will of their own to keep the car moving but it was hardly anything specific.

_Dean Winchester was going to die. _

_Dean Winchester was going to hell. _

_Dean Winchester sold his soul for his brother's life_.

She was repeating these words in her head over and over and over again and yet they had no meaning to her, maybe because they had no sense generally. The news was too big to process it in her mind just like that. Too big and too shocking. Too unbelievable. Horrible.

Under five moths left now, that was what Missouri told her. Under five months, and what then? Nothing. Several random weeks and Dean Winchester was going to stop existing. Simple as that. It was beyond her. Bela made an attempt to imagine the world without Dean, this arrogant, annoying and irritating pain in the ass, so vital, so alive. And she couldn't. Failed to see the picture as if the world could not exist without him. And what a stupid thought! Of course it could, and it would, and this fact seemed even more terrifying than the whole _Dean-was-sentenced-to-death_ fact. No one would even notice…

Dead end, just like Missouri said. Strange how she never thought about anything like that before. She couldn't imagine Dean making another choice; couldn't imagine him letting Sam die. Not that she knew him well enough to make any guesses. Not that she knew him at all, see all this prove it. But she couldn't see _anything_ else but Dean sacrificing himself.

And what about Sam? Absently, Bela wondered what Sam was feeling about losing his brother in no time. Wondered if he was doing something to save him or maybe he was simply waiting for the inevitable. Missouri didn't say a word about the younger of the brothers and Bela didn't dare to ask fearing to give herself away. Thought her voice would betray her, or maybe not, it was hard to say. She didn't want to risk.

Crossroads deal was a trap. It was impossible to break it and the worst thing was that this particular case couldn't be solved with money, or bribe, or blackmail, or anything else she was comfortable about. Bela met people who were foolish enough to make it for the reasons she didn't want to go into. None of them was lucky enough to escape the pit. And deep inside Bela knew that there was no way out. Honestly, never cared enough to give it some proper thinking – and why would she? But then she also knew that most of these people deserved what they got, whereas Dean… It was not right. It was not fair to go to hell for being so damn good.

Dean Winchester was going to hell. The whole idea was fundamentally wrong. Impossible. And maybe because of that it was so hard to understand. So hard to accept.

Bela made an attempt to concentrate on the road but looking out the windshield only made her wonder where Dean was now and what was he up to. Wondered what he was thinking about – what would _anyone_ think about knowing exactly when and how they were going to die. Wondered what he was feeling. Must be hearing his inner clock ticking, she supposed; each second brining him closer to…

"Dean Winchester is going to die," she told herself. The words tasted strange in her mouth. The sound of her own voice, rather quiet in silent car, seemed to be too loud; made her feel uncomfortable. "Dean Winchester is going to hell," Bela repeated and wished she didn't.

The realization struck her like a punch in the gut, unexpected and painful. Invisible hand squeezed her lungs so tight that she could barely take the smallest of breaths.

Bela jerked the car to the shoulder, heard the squeal of tires against the asphalt, and hit the brakes so abruptly that she nearly smashed into the steering wheel when the car came to a stop. Her hands were shaking; she was gasping for air. The whole world was a blur before her eyes and it took Bela a moment or two to realize that she was crying, unbidden tears streaming down her face, hot and burning.

She clenched her eyes shut, bit her bottom lip and buried her face in her palms as if it could change the terrible truth that Dean Winchester was going to die in less than five bloody months and she was going to lose him forever.

***

Sam Winchester was running out of time. One case after another, no breaks, no free time. No sleep even. Bad coffee and sore back after hours of waiting, sitting in the car, or researching, or whatever. Saved lives were a reward of course but the more time he spent on regular job, the less he had for his own secret research delaying any attempts to help his stubborn brother which sometimes made Sam wonder if Dean was pushing the cases like that only to keep him distracted, as if he knew something. He didn't of course. It wasn't in Dean's nature to play such games.

It was a bit more than four months now, read _no time at all_. Seven and a half months left behind and he still was where he started, having a bunch of half leads that he knew were nothing but crap.

He knew that there was something. Must be, logically speaking. A ritual. A protection charm. A way to build a bunker that no demon could get into. A way to freeze hell, trust Dean to let it happen. Something. His hopes were still up, even after all this time, and sometimes Sam thought that it was all that kept him sane and in his right mind. All he needed was a fracture of time without Dean hovering around, enthusiastic about things that no normal dying man would care for. A bit of time, some luck and maybe some help. Okay, maybe _help_ was pushing it but a hint on where to move next would definitely do, too, assuming _who_ he was keeping in mind.

Dean was "treating" the Impala, or so he told in the morning when he called to say that he got stuck on some highway between here and there because… okay, Sam didn't pay much attention when Dean started naming the parts of his "baby" that should be repaired or replaced or whatever. Some hundred miles away from the motel where Sam got stuck with another research, supposedly. And now he thought it was his chance, his honest to God hope because he finally found what to occupy Dean with and keep him busy for a while when he was some with the Impala. A brief message in the news section was what was going to buy Sam what he needed most. Plan formed in his mind instantly. There was something that he hadn't checked yet.

Sam found his cell-phone and dialed Dean's number. Passed to him what he found out and answered several questions he could answer without digging deeper into the case, which he wasn't going to do anyway. He hung up then and found another number right away relieved that it was in his quick dial list. Maybe it was his only chance.

***

Bela slid into the booth of a diner three blocks down the street from her apartment. The place always reminded her of the movies filmed back in 70s whenever she happened to pass by. Her brows shot up when she spotted a cup of steaming coffee waiting for her already. She ignored it though. Propped her head in her hand and stared expectedly at Sam Winchester sitting across from her now trying to decide whether the phone call that she received from him two days ago surprised her or if she saw it coming. Not really, she thought in the end, although she was almost sure she knew _why_ he called. Wished he would move to the point instead of sitting and looking nervous.

Actually, Bela planned to call him herself. But something was holding her back from doing that so far. She wasn't sure she wanted Dean to know that she knew and Sam would most likely tell him that she called even if she asked not to. Or maybe not. Depending on how determined he was to help his brother and how this determination was winning over his obvious disgust with her. Not that she was his biggest fan either. For some reason she couldn't help but being overly condescending with Sam. But yet she was eager to play along to find out what he knew and how far he had come in his own research. Chances were he knew something that she didn't, and maybe that something could make the picture whole for her. Bela accepted the possibility that they could join forces for a while.

She gave him her best high-voltage smile when their eyes met, so bright that it must be blinding, or so she hoped. She also hoped that it would prompt Sam to speak without a million of questions from her which she wasn't up to. He blinked. Bela wondered if her ploy worked. Perhaps, he simply didn't get the hint.

"Hi, Bela," he cleared his throat and put aside plastic menu that he was absently twisting in his fingers not really interested in the contents. "Thanks. For coming I mean."

"Thanks for coffee," she looked pointedly at her drink that didn't even get cold, to her surprise. "How could I turn down you generous invitation?" Eyes moved to his face again, her head tilted slightly. She batted her eyelashes fighting to look flirty.

Sam forced a wry smile of his own that wasn't anything close to _the_ smile but Bela appreciated the attempt anyway.

She grabbed the menu and stared at the pictures of the dishes. It was 10 am and she didn't have her breakfast yet, too nervous to even try and swallow something. She wasn't all that sure that anything changed yet but it would at least keep her distracted in a way. Besides, she was hungry.

The waitress came up to their table and put a plate with chicken sandwich and fries before Sam. Bela gave the whole thing a speculative look and after a short moment of hesitation ordered the same for herself.

"So, what did I do to deserve the honor?" She asked when the waitress disappeared. Took a sip of her coffee and reached for the sugar to soften bitter taste.

Sam cleared his throat – again – looking even more uncomfortable by the second, and in any other situation she would probably find it amusing. Perhaps would even enjoy it. "I… I was wondering if you could help me."

Her heart jumped.

"Help you?" Bela repeated with mock disbelief; pretended that she could easily ignore this heavy feeling in her stomach. "With what?" Hoped that innocent yet blank expression on her face looked natural.

Sam scowled at her. His jaw twitched. And she saw that he wasn't up to any games. But what she saw as well was that he looked terribly haggard and world-weary. Exhausted even, and everything inside of Bela squeezed when she dared to think about the reason.

Thankfully, that was when her food arrived. Not that she could eat; taste of lies would probably make everything feel foul in her mouth. Her appetite was gone for good by this moment. But at least she had an excuse to break eye contact with more than desperate Sam Winchester and try to compose herself back again, as much as it was possible.

"So what it is?" She prompted him impatiently in a minute or so irritated with the need to literary pull information out of him.

Their eyes met.

"Look, I know that you know the way around the territory." He sounded hesitant as if he wasn't sure that calling her was a good idea in the first place, and was even less certain about it now when she was sitting right before him, which somehow wasn't surprising but it made Bela cringe inwardly anyway. "I hoped maybe you would tell me where to find…one thing."

"Mm, maybe," she admitted with a nod, cautious to raise his, as well as her own, hopes up. "Depends." Could it be? Could he find anything that was worth checking? A lead? A way? But she fought to keep her cool and save her best business face; emotionless mask, speaking of that. "Are you going to tell me what exactly you are looking for or should I start trying to guess?"

If he heard sarcasm in her question, he preferred to ignore it. Bad sign.

Sam elbowed his plate aside – barely touched its contents, Bela noticed – and leaned closer to her across the table as if to make the conversation more private and avoid accidental eavesdropping which probably was an overreaction since there were only five other people in the diner, all of them sitting too far to hear a word, unless Sam started to shout. Bela did the same though. Grabbed a couple of fries from her plate and leaned forward to him, too.

"It's a silver ring," Sam said. "A very old one. There is a prayer in Latin engraved along its inner side and a saying along its outer rim. And then there's a symbol on top." He paused for a moment, and then grabbed a tissue from the holder, found a pen in the pocket of his jacket and drew something in several sharp movements. Pushed the tissue across the table to Bela and looked impatiently at her. "Like this. I need to find it."

Her first reaction was deep and overwhelming disappointment, and then guilt for the necessity to crush Sam's crazy foolish hopes. Of course she could help him find the damned ring. It was stashed in her safe by now because, just like him, she believed at first that it would be of use. But then it turned out that all the legends behind the thing were nothing more but legends. Well, maybe it was a bit harsh. Maybe there was something in it. But not against _the_ hell.

And then the whole horror came. She wasn't going to grind to dust Sam's dreams only. Her own hopes might as well go right to hell. He didn't find anything useful then, was a step behind her. Bela nearly groaned at the thought. Not really surprising though, with Dean always around and everything.

Her fingers closed around thin piece of paper and squeezed it so tight that her knuckles turned white. Bela breathed out a long heavy sigh and leaned back in her seat, teeth clenched together and eyes locked on the advertisement billboard outside the window.

"What?" Sam asked, wary at once. "You can't find it? Listen, I know that you're not working just like that…" _For free,_ he wanted to say, she heard it between the lines. Heard disgust somewhere there, too.

"It won't help," Bela cut him off.

He peered at her in misunderstanding as if his intention was to see the insides of her head.

"It won't save Dean from hell," she breathed out almost hating herself for delivering such news. And it wasn't even something she could have made a crack about.

Sam froze on his seat. "You know?" And without waiting for an answer. "How?"

"Is it s big secret or what?" She flinched.

"Bela…" There was a warning mixed with panic in his tone now.

"Missouri Moseley." His face became a stone mask at first and then his eyes popped out of his scull, almost literary, and his jaw dropped. "I see the name rings a bell, yeah?" Bela cocked her head. She took another piece of fry and started chewing it not feeling the taste.

"How do you know Missouri?" His eyes narrowed, suspicious and distrustful; probably trying to figure out her gain, which wasn't entirely untrue.

"Dean needs help," on a shrug. "Somebody just thought about me before you. That's it." And gave him _that_ look.

"Why you?"

"Maybe because I don't have your brother behind my back 24/7," she supposed, and then as an afterthought. "Thank God!"

Not really convinced, Sam watched her for a while. Everything from fear to hope to wish to take that risk flashed across his face within moments. Bela held his gaze forcing Dean's image out of her mind. That was a bit too much right now.

"Okay," Sam drawled at last. "What's in it for you?"

"Why, Sam! Don't you think it's rude to talk like that to someone who is on your side?"

"I just want to make sure that your involvement won't get Dean in bigger trouble than the deal," he snickered.

Bela's glance sharpened. Yet, she put on her best smile. "It's a job I'm getting paid for. I am as interested in succeeding as you are." He flinched at her choice of words. "Besides," she continued, "I'm curious. If we really find a way to break crossroads deals… Just imagine it, Sam. It is pure power. Like… like the world's biggest treasure ever."

And he definitely hated her, if the expression of unmistakable disgust was any indication. Honestly, it wasn't her primary intention to make it this far. Her bluff was slightly overplayed by the looks of it. She could practically hear everything he was thinking of her. Not exactly the effect she had in mind when driving here, Bela had to admit. Not when the stakes were so high. And maybe she could use some help.

She dropped her eyes; her fingers kept folding and unfolding the tissue with Sam's hurried drawing.

"I want to help, Sam," which came out in a whoosh of breath and she half hoped he missed it because it sounded like… like she _cared,_ and it was so obvious that it made her feel sick. "I don't think that your brother deserves dying like that. And I… You know, I'd help anyway, if only you have asked. I am not _that_ bad."

In any other situation a confession like that would probably make Bela blush – moreover, she could hardly imagine any other situation that would make her say these words out loud. But now she simply felt relieved – and very, very embarrassed. But she made her voice sound insulted and accusing and it kind of helped the matters.

Sam let out a long exhausted sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Do you have anything?" He asked then, both eager and fearing to hear the answer.

Bela straightened on the seat, all business at once, and gave him whatever little information she had. Tried to keep her skepticism out. "It may be a long shot," she warned him quickly when his face suddenly lit up. "But it is worth checking."

"Tell me about this book." He asked curiously.

She handed him the page from the notepad that Missouri gave her weeks ago since she didn't need it anymore. The title of the damned thing was carved into her grain by now.

Sam frowned.

"What?" She frowned, too. "Do you know it?"

"Never heard, which it weird because--"

"Because you're a book worm and that implies many things. Yeah, I know."

"You think it can be of use?" It wasn't just hope now. He was looking at Bela like she was an answer to his prayers.

She cringed. "It is the only thing that is not absolutely _nothing_ so far, although I wouldn't make any guesses until I have it in my hands because if it is another dead end…" She trailed off and looked away. A whole lot of wasted time, that was what they both heard. "Just keep your eyes open for it, okay?"

"Sure." He paused. "Um… Bela? Did Missouri say something to you? I mean something… well, _definite_?"

"She called Dean a stubborn dolt," she smiled.

Sam smirked. "She's been good at reading people." And then, "I manipulated him away for a little while. Found a case which he can deal with alone. It will probably give me two or three days or so, before he's back." A shrug followed.

Read, _I'm not going to waste my time now that I have it_.

Bela nodded curtly. "Is he… alright?" Even if it probably was a very bad idea to ask questions. Kind of hard to stay distracted when you know too much.

"He's perfect," Sam's sneer was short and bitter. "As if it isn't his life that he's going to lose. Like… like it is some kind of adventure." And added under his breath. "He doesn't listen to me."

"So very Dean," Bela muttered to herself although she probably had right to say that because – honestly – what did she know about Dean Winchester at all to judge? He was a thick-headed ass with stupid medieval principles that loved his brother and fought for what he thought was right. Nothing at all, leave alone some random facts, and it felt sad.

Small quirk of Sam's lips acknowledged his agreement with her words. But it was gone in a moment without a trace. "Listen, if you find something – _anything_… Swear to God, Bela, I'd do whatever it takes but I'm not going to let him go like that. I… I can't."

"I know." And she was so sorry for them all – for Dean, for Sam, for herself, for being so damn helpless – that it hurt.

"It's just… Sometimes I wish we could trade places – God, if only we _could_! – but anyway… More than anything, I want to see how would _he_ stay away and do nothing." He shook his head.

Bela clenched her hands together. Thought about Dean turning the whole underworld upside down to help his little bro and couldn't hold back a small smile. Thought about Dean being all on his own that very moment, with his fears, trying not to think about his death, and fought to block it out. It was too early to say goodbyes yet.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Feedback is always appreciated. I love reviews :))

**PS Author's notes: **the reason why it took me quite a while to upload this chap is that I kind of tried to make some sort of promo video for this story. No idea if it worked, with so little video material :)) It is mostly about the song than about the images. Okay, I should probably stop babbling here :)) Just check it out if you want [http://www. youtube. com/ watch?v=-ZfonSkG2bo]

Warning! Contains spoilers ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note:** Oh, well, it took me a while I know but here I am again, with yet another update :)) I'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. It is a huge support, guys. Really. I appreciate it a lot.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Spirits were of no help.

Bela spent hours sitting cross-legged at the coffee-table in the living room of her apartment with a talking board lying before her, asking the questions again and again and again. And there was nothing. Not because there was no way to save Dean from the deal – although maybe there wasn't – but because the afterworld wanted the Winchester brothers really bad, preferably both and preferably now. There was hardly anything Dean and Sam could offer in return for their souls.

It was that very case when the spirits were not at all willing to open their secrets.

It was her cat's head that bumped into her knee that broke Bela's concentration. Exhausted like after cross-marathon, she let go off the planchette and stroke him on the back.

"Yeah, coffee would be great," she said on a sigh getting up and picking the cat in her arms. Put him onto one of high stools at her kitchen island and moved on to the coffee machine, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. There was too much information spinning in her mind now to concentrate on something specific.

It's been almost a week now. Six and a half priceless days, and she was still on square one. The book that Missouri asked her to find could be something. Perhaps. If anything could be something at all. It was pretty hard to track down though. Bela put the word, made a hundred of calls, arranged a meeting with one of her contacts who might have some information and was now working on plan B in case the whole book thing fell to shit.

Made a research on Missouri, too. Psychic. Medium. Mind-reader. The last fact was the slowest to kick in. Bela had to read it five times at least to get it right. Her cheeks flushed and she cursed herself for not coming up with this bright idea before actually going to Lawrence like she usually did before. She recalled the thoughts that she didn't even try to control with Missouri around and felt that she was quickly turning unnaturally red even at the memory. How could she be so stupid?! Mind reading… Jesus! She was like an open book with all her emotions about Dean Winchester and… and…

And Missouri Moseley was her only ally at the moment. Well, she _and_ Sam.

Bela debated calling Sam. She was curious about his position and his thoughts and his plans and whatever he had there on Dean. But then she decided to put it off till she had the bloody book in her possession. Something to actually talk about. Besides, Dean could be around. And what if Sam left his phone somewhere and Dean saw her name on the caller ID? She couldn't risk.

She called Missouri on the third day after coming back home, aware of her biography by this time. Yet, she didn't bring it up in the conversation. Told that she was doing fine and promised to keep her informed. Was very cautious in her choice of words this time wondering if damn abilities could work through the phone as well as when she was having direct contact with a person. Missouri didn't mention anything either. Her voice was tired and somewhat hoping and Bela's heart jumped in response relieved to know that she wasn't all alone. She didn't mention Sam but supposed that if Missouri's gift was working alright, she already knew everything. Or maybe Sam called her, to verify Bela's words. She wouldn't put it past him, not to trust her.

Coffee machine beeped. Bela filled her mug and then climbed onto the tall stool next to her cat breathing in bitter smell of her drink.

"I'll be back soon," she promised looking into his curious amber eyes. Reached her hand out then and scratched him on the neck. "Someone has to take care of this stubborn idiot if he can't do it himself."

The cat purred in response enjoying subtle movement of Bela's fingers.

She sighed and checked the clock trying to figure out how much time she had and if this time was enough for packing only or if she could fit in a couple of phone calls as well.

Time. She only had four months and a couple of weeks now. Well, _he_ had actually, if only he was thinking about it at all if, like Missouri said, he was not fighting. Four months. Almost nothing compared to eternity of a lifetime. Bela couldn't help but wonder if Dean could already hear his inner time running out.

***

Small bar was dark, maybe with the exception of dim neon lamps on the walls along its perimeter, and a jukebox, so bright that it looked almost blinding and absolutely out of place. The air was thick, filled with bluish smoke, smell of cheap alcohol and small-voiced talks, pretty unintelligible for everyone but the speakers. Waitresses were sliding between the tables delivering mugs of beer and collecting empty ones like ghosts, appearing and disappearing in the shadows. Like some lost phantoms.

The bar was half-empty since it was somewhere around eleven in the evening, meaning too early for a full party to blow up in such place. Maybe in an hour or two it would be utterly crowded and noisy, but then maybe not. Maybe it was meant to be that way, dark and quiet. Private.

Dean raised his eyes from untouched glass of whiskey up to the mirror over the bar counter and fixed them on the man sitting in the very corner for what seemed like hours now, a mug of beer, never touched and probably disgustingly warm before him on the scarred wood surface of a small table. Thick shadows around him were a perfect cover. It was impossible to make out his expression. Dean could barely see his form and slumped down shoulders against the blackness of the walls. All he knew for sure was that the man barely looked up from his drink ever since he got it. Moreover, he barely moved. Shifted slightly a couple of times only, as if to adjust his position. His hands were clenched around the mug never letting it go and yet never bringing it up to his mouth. And who would stand sitting motionless like that for hours anyway? Dean had no idea what the waitresses were thinking but it looked pretty creepy to him.

He wondered if he was going to be buried in this dump of a place forever. Could practically feel his eyes burning because of smoke and suspected that he had lost his sense of smell completely. He wished he could do something to make the things move, like just coming over and starting a little chat. Anything!

His cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket, sound turned off as a precaution measure, before he came up with some bright idea. If any of his ideas could be bright at all after so many sleepless hours and in a place like this, he added darkly to himself.

Swiftly, Dean reached into the pocket and retrieved his phone, eyes never leaving his object under observation who didn't seem to care a tiny bit.

"Yeah," he breathed into the receiver.

"_Dean?_" Sam kept his voice as low as possible, too, as if he could have been overheard. "_How are things going? Where are you?_"

"Still here," he grimaced. "And I'm having so much fun!"

Dean wanted to add something about trading places next time with Sam following the suspect and him staying in the motel room and doing research, or watching TV maybe, but that very moment the man pushed himself up from the chair, its legs squealed against the wood floor, which no one seemed to care about, and headed for the exit, obviously intended to leave since Dean knew by this point that the toilet was located in the other end of the bar.

"You're right, honey," he said, voice much louder now that he saw the man walking behind his back in the mirror. Didn't risk turning around and taking a look though. "It' too late, I should go home." Registered the door close out of the corner of his eye before sliding off the tall stool.

"_Good luck, dude_," Sam chuckled and disconnected.

Dean threw a couple of bills onto the counter and followed quickly outside thrilled with the prospect of finally breathing in actual air. It was rather cool and pretty damp and the mist that was forming at the river several blocks away and crawling low along the streets smelled strange but Dean nearly moaned with delight after the first intake of breath. It felt divine. He even dared to suppose that his lungs were still working properly. Or would be soon.

The street was empty and quiet with only half of all streetlamps on. Dean spotted the man two buildings down the streets, his back appearing and disappearing in the spots of light, thanks to poor illumination.

He crossed the street pretending that he was making his way to his car in case the man bothered to look back. Even opened the door and then slammed it wholeheartedly for better effect. It proved to be unnecessary though. Apparently, the man thought that it was none of his business.

Keeping his steps as quiet as possible, Dean crossed back and started after his object trying to stay close to the walls and stick to thick shadows. Didn't want to push his luck now that he'd come this close.

A movement and low voices in the alley caught Dean's attention, made him slow down his pace and look automatically to the right into the nearly absolute darkness. The only streetlamp not far from the place wasn't of any help. He frowned when he spotted a man holding a woman against raw brick wall, with something that looked very much like a gun at her side, or heart, Dean couldn't say for sure. His elbow was at her throat to keep her immovable.

"I told you not to play games with me, sweetheart," his voice was low but in complete silence it was as clear as if he was shouting.

"We agreed on the price. Who is playing dirty now?" Woman's reply was barely above whisper, too, but it pinned Dean to the spot. Way too familiar accent was impossible to miss. Could it be--?

"I changed my mind," the man grinned.

Dean threw a quick look at the back of the man he was fully intended to catch tonight and cursed in his mind. He was barely visible now in the mist, almost a block away from where Dean was standing now. Only the sound of his footsteps was steady on the pavement, but it was fainting away. _You're going to owe me for that, Bela_, he thought with annoyance. _Swear to God, I'm not leaving it like that this time_.

And then he dove into the alley, his feet making no sound against wet asphalt. He crossed the distance between the corner and the couple before either of them could blink. The man must have noticed the motion though because he turned his head, surprised, and the next moment he was sent to the ground by a full-strength blow in the face. Gun fell out of his hand and slid somewhere into the black shadows.

Bela gasped for air now that her throat was finally released and gawked dumbly at the immobile form of her attacker, not so dangerous now lying still, his face down.

Irritated with her slowness caused by surprise, or shock, or whatever, Dean grabbed her unceremoniously by the arm and dragged her out of the alley and back into the street. His case totally fucked up by this moment.

They reached the Impala twice faster than it took him to walk from it to the alley. Dean yanked the passenger's door open furiously, shoved Bela inside without a tiny bit of respect and slammed it shut a second after she pulled her legs in. She gave him a glare through the window. He scowled back and hurried to take his own seat. Engine came to life in a moment, and the next thing she knew was that the two of them were winding down the street at what she supposed was illegal speed. Thankfully, the whole area seemed to die out.

"Where is your car?" Dean asked abruptly, and it was the first sound that broke tense silence. Didn't look at her though, and Bela registered that his knuckles turned unnaturally white.

She wanted to send him to hell and say that it was none of his business and he might have as well dropped her any time he liked but, well, he was giving her a lift. She could be nice.

Bela looked out the window to define where they were in the first place. "Around the corner two blocks from here." And turned away to give her flopping stomach a chance to settle where it was meant to be, still not quite capable of thinking about anything but him, out of surprise mostly, so close to her now, just within arm's reach. So much closer than she thought he ever would be again.

"Coulda been more friggin' picky about where you hand around," he muttered.

"Right back at you, Dean," she hissed.

"What?! Even as ungrateful as you normally are…"

"Grateful? What should I be grateful for? I didn't remember asking for your help, Dean--"

"Sure!" He snickered.

"And I was doing pretty fine on my own, see--"

"Of course!"

Bela glowered at him, fuming. "I was working, Dean, and you ruined everything! And now I have to make it up somehow because… Oh, hell. Thank you!"

"Cute! You know what? I wasn't just having fun there either and you and your dear friend screwed _my_ job. And if this guy kills someone else…" He trailed off, gave her another burning glare, but knew better than blaming Bela for something or another. Wasn't quite in suicidal mood today. "Here?"

He threw the Impala into park. Bela jerked forward but did not comment his awful driving because it was probably exactly what he expected and she didn't want to give him a pleasure.

"Thank you for the ride," she singsonged and reached for the door.

"Hey, it's not your car," Dean said, confused when he spotted nothing but ancient Ford parked under the streetlamp that looked like it was having its last minutes of life before falling apart.

"Of course it is not my car," Bela rolled her eyes. "This one is at least ten years older than me. And I have certain standards. I rented it," she explained in response to his dumb expression.

"Even better," Dean growled. "Give me the keys."

"What?" Bela blinked; her eyes narrowed suspiciously then. "Why?"

"Keys, Bela."

"Whatever," she dropped the whole bunch into his open palm and slumped back into the seat, chin tipped high and arms folded on the chest, trying to fight back a hell of a headache that started forming inside of her scull.

Driver's door opened and closed. Bela looked out the window then, curious and wondering. Saw Dean open Ford and dive inside for several moments. He opened the trunk then and found her traveling bag. Shut it close then so hard that it was a miracle that poor Ford survived it. He returned to the Impala after that and threw her bag into the back seat.

"What was this show about?" She asked as soon as Dean was back inside and working on his seatbelt.

"Call to… wherever you found this junk and tell them where they can find it. I left the keys in the gloves compartment." He started the car.

Bela frowned. "Where are you taking me?" in a voice that didn't promise anything good.

"Home, baby. I've got work to do but first I want to make sure that you're out of my way."

***

Bela didn't really care where they were going. It was too dark outside to capture any details and with her mind on fire she could barely pay attention at all. She peered sightlessly out the window, teeth clenched and lips pursed tight, fuming to herself. Who the hell he thought he was, this arrogant, infuriating… Snatching her like that! Like she was some kind…

"I don't get it, Bela, honestly. Are you spying on me or what?" He did sound puzzled.

Dean's words rudely interrupted the train of compliments in her head. Bela whipped her head around, spluttering for a moment, shocked.

"What?!" She snapped. "It is you who is stalking me, obviously."

"Oh, please!" He snorted as if it was the most stupid supposition ever. His jaw twitched, or so it looked to her. "Why would I…"

"No, seriously, Dean, first this bloody horror house, now this. Why else would I see you everywhere I go?"

And he definitely didn't have anything to say against that. This ridiculous assumption of his that she was following him or something was simply insane. And, come on, they could accuse each other for ages and still it would take them nowhere.

"Speaking, of the house, Bela," here his eye became sharp. And yes, his jaw definitely twitched, "What did you take?" Dark assuredness was somewhere in his voice, too, like he already knew the answer to his question and now only wanted to hear her confirmation.

Bela clapped her mouth shut trying to feverishly guess if he could actually know, and then, "Nothing." Her voice calm and as honest as possible.

"What did you take?" He repeated in a low growl.

"Nothing."

"What, Bela?" He kept on darting quick glances at her every two seconds or so, his temper obviously growing.

"Nothing!" She slumped back into the seat, irritated. "Jesus, Dean!" Rolled her eyes and turned away.

He watched her suspiciously for a while, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. "Whatever," muttered then with frustration. "So, what's the story this time? What did you do to piss this… whoever he was, so much?"

"Idle curiosity?"

"Just wondering why on Earth anyone would want to kill you," with an emphasis on _why_, and a matter-of-fact shrug in the end.

Bela shrugged, too. Decided to stick to the truth, without specifications, now that he sounded like he was offering a truce or something. "We agreed on the price, and then he decided it was too low for the information he had. That's all. We were in the middle of friendly negotiation when you showed up. Wanna help me deal with the consequences, honey?"

"Unbelievable! Couldn't stay out of trouble even for one fucking day, huh?"

Bela gasped. "One day? It's been over a month, thank you!"

"Been counting the days? That's sweet."

"Don't flatter yourself." She snorted and folded her arms on the chest.

Wanted to add something else – and that wouldn't be something nice – but the sound of Dean's cell phone ringing kind of ruined the whole fun. Sam, Bela though sourly, and scoffed loud enough for Dean to hear. The Winchesters were so predictable it wasn't even funny.

"Yeah," Dean braked into the receiver.

"_Dean? Where are you? Any luck?_" Sam yawned soundly, and Dean grimaced.

"I lost him," he shot another glare at the back of Bela's head.

"_What?! Why?_"

"I was… distracted. Sort of."

"_What happened?_" He imagined that Sam must have frowned here.

"I've got a damsel in distress here," he confessed rather unwillingly and made a face although no one could see it assuming that Bela still was not looking at him. She snorted though acknowledging that the phrase didn't go past her.

"_Dean!_" Sam groaned. "_Don't you think it's not the best time for such kind of things?_"

"It's not like that!" He exclaimed defensively. Bela huffed. "Listen, I'll call you when I get rid of this burden, okay?"

Dean could have sworn that she rolled her eyes at his choice of words although it was a little difficult to watch the road, keep track of conversation with Sam and register all her reactions at the same time. Not that he gave a damn anyway.

There was a long pause on the line before Sam spoke again. "_Burden? Dean, everything okay there?_"

"Sure. Why are you asking?"

"_Is this waitress or whoever you got there not hot or what? You sound… strange_." As for Sam, he sounded amused.

_You have no idea_, Dean sighed. He pretended that he was too preoccupied with the road to even look at her, even out of the corner of his eye, and felt his cheeks heating up. "Keep an eye on our guy. I'll be back soon."

And he hung up on Sam's protest, "_Tell me at least…_" whatever he wanted to know.

Bela exhaled loudly and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. It was colder than she thought it would be and even with the heater turned on she still expected her teeth to start chattering in no time. Wondered absently, and pretty darkly, why was Dean Winchester still breathing when she had so many reasons to put an end to it.

Four months and two weeks, a small voice reminded her mischievously from somewhere inside of her head, and chill ran down Bela's spine again, having nothing to do with low temperatures this time. Something cold clenched her stomach. Bale swallowed uneasily. Four months and two weeks to go.

"You can put this on," Dean told her some time later, and nodded backwards when she turned and blinked silent _huh?_ at him.

He rolled his eyes when she didn't move, and let go off the steering wheel to reach into the backseat. Came back empty-handed and cursing all the way through under his breath about her "stupid bag", which Bela guessed had something to do with something being stuck under it.

She'd been watching all his manipulations with curiosity, somewhat amused even, feeling the ice finally breaking, if only it was what it looked like. His annoyance was funny. She undid her seatbelt then and climbed onto her seat with her knees to bend over the back and take a look at what Dean had been so keen on getting. Found his jacket under her bag that landed right on top of it when he shoved it inside, and had to bite her lip not to smile. Looked at Dean over her shoulder, as much as she could, too concentrated on keeping her balance, brows arched but he only huffed, finally back to proper driving, both hands on steering wheel now, before they got off the road or something.

"Are you going to hang there like that forever?" He asked in a moment, casually.

Bela sighed and slumped back, his jacket in her hands. Debated turning his generous offer down, stubborn as she was, and assuming the expression of his face. But it really was cold. Or maybe it was just adrenaline finally leaving her blood and realization of possible danger coming instead.

Either way, Bela wrapped the jacket around her shoulders and leaned back into the seat willing herself to relax now that she wasn't in control of situation anyway.

"Thanks," she breathed out surprising Dean as much as herself. Irritation started to fade away.

"You… you okay, right?" He asked after giving her a long look. "He didn't hurt you or something?"

Bela paused. "No, I'm fine." And then, "Are you seriously going to drive me back to New-York?" Out of wish to find out if they still were on speaking terms at all.

The pause was so long that Bela wondered if he heard her at all. And then she decided that he chose to ignore her question which was insulting, true, but not really unexpected.

"I want to make sure you're out of my hair before I get back to work." All charm… and what did he say back then? Natural politeness? Sure!

It did sound like he cared though, and this realization made Bela feel warm all over. He could have left her at the damn Ford, could have passed by the bloody alley, or maybe couldn't. Whatever. She turned away to the window lest he catch her smile. There was no anger in his voice. No irritation, to her surprise. And that definitely implied something. Probably.

***

Her eyes were sandy and she was yawning all the time. A quick surreptitious look at Dean proved that he was feeling pretty much the same. So Bela wasn't entirely surprised when he turned off the main road and stopped the car at the registration office of one of the numerous motels scattered all over the country some five minutes later. Must have seen a sign or something, Bela thought. She surely didn't.

"What is this place?" Bela asked getting out after him. Her voice mock-patient and calm. A look around the parking lot, the neon sign that was clearly living his last minutes and old one-storey building, probably the same age as her abandoned Ford that they left a state back, proved low level of Dean's standards once again.

"We're stopping for the night," he informed her in exactly same voice that she used setting Bela's teeth on edge. "Unless, of course, you're up to taking my place, which, of course, is absolutely impossible since you're not allowed anywhere close to the wheel of my baby." Dean patted the car on the roof with inexplicable affection on his face. "She'll never forgive me."

"The car is inanimate object, Dean," Bela rolled her eyes.

"Manners, Bela. It's an insult after all. She can hear you," he shook his head with reproach, and then bent closer to the car. "Don't listen to her, sweetheart. She doesn't know what she's saying."

Bela hemmed. She wanted to ask about their chances to get out of this dump alive or without catching something nasty but then only sighed and followed him to the office wondering absently if her silent agreement to even go inside meant that her standards started dropping as well. At least he manfully accepted his duty to carry her bag although she didn't see any enthusiasm on his face.

His manners didn't let him wait for her though and by the time Bela stumbled into the room with a counter and a woman in her early fifties behind it, Dean was already done with checking-in practically leaving her no choice at all but to trust him and whatever he was up to. She scowled at his smile and huffed to herself as she listened to him chatting happily with the receptionist asking stupid and absolutely unnecessary questions as if they were tourists that got lost on the way. The woman was responding eagerly, explaining him something that Bela didn't get and, honestly, didn't want to.

Maybe it made sense, she decided after all. To leave a witness of some sort in case she gave in to her wish to throttle him with her bare hands as soon as they were alone.

The room wasn't that much a disappointment to Bela's surprise. It was rather small but clean and smelled nice, like furniture polisher with lemon flavor. She didn't spot any stains or holes in the carpet or on the bed comforters and had to admit that her opinion about Dean Winchester's taste somewhat improved by the second. Thank God it was double room with a small and rather scarred bedside table between two single beds. All the way across the parking lot and to the door Bela feared to see something king-size, another sick joke of Dean's, which wouldn't be all that unexpected. She could afford separate room of course but where was fun in that? It was kind of nice to see Dean being all gentleman and everything. Besides, Bela didn't feel like she wanted to be… separated.

After all, she was mature enough to share a room for one goddamned night. She wasn't going to say a word about it; wasn't going to give him the pleasure in case it was what he expected. Aside from that, it wasn't bloody likely that he was having any intentions except good healthy sleep, so apparently she had no reasons to worry about _that_ side. Or expect it.

Decision made, Bela sidestepped Dean from the bathroom and slammed the door in his face. Caught a glimpse of annoyance and a scowl, and smiled with satisfaction to herself.

She took a shower and changed into boxers and a t-shirt after that, made a quick blow-dry of her hair, pulled on a bathrobe with a small motel's logo and returned to the main room, fresh and flushing after hot water, and not anywhere close to sleepy anymore.

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the bed that Bela claimed for herself by putting her bag on top of it and flipping lazily through the TV channels staring sightlessly at the screen, which made her wonder if he paid any attention to the flickering pictures at all. He jolted when she dropped a pile of clothes near him – subtle hint to get out – and turned to give her appreciative look from head to toe and back to head. His glance lingered on her nearly bare legs and Bela wished she wrapped the bathrobe properly around herself instead of letting it hang loose on her shoulders. Yet, she didn't do anything, as if she didn't care about his… well, staring.

Smirking to himself, Dean rolled off the bed and tossed remote to her. Bela reached her hand automatically to catch it and gave him a glare, but Dean's back didn't appreciate the effort. He disappeared in the bathroom whistling quietly under his breath.

His head poked out ten seconds later. "I ordered some food," he informed her, and instructed, "Watch it." As it was a big deal.

Bela made a face but he was already gone again. She looked at the remote in her hand and decided to change the commercial that was promising a car of new generation to something a tad more interesting when her cell phone rang.

She muted the TV and found the phone in the pocket of her jeans. Missouri. Keeping her eyes on the closed door Bela skirted to the window – the farthest part of the room – and blocked the image of Dean Winchester in the shower in her head that appeared at the sound of running water. It was only 8 pm in Lawrence, Bela calculated quickly in her mind, so she decided not to hold late call against Missouri.

"_Hello, dear_," was what Bela heard for the greeting as soon as she flipped her phone open.

"Hi." The water was still running but she wouldn't put it past Dean to appear out of thin air to check who she might be talking to even if it was none of his business.

"_I hope you don't mind me calling, Bela?_"

"Oh, no, not at all."

"_How are things going there? Everything okay? Any… news?_"

"Things? Well, _interesting_, you know." _Fabulous_ was the best definition, aside from the part where she was in the exact same spot where she'd been a week ago, not a step closer, only with complications now. Bela sighed. "Listen, Missouri, let's leave our games for a while, shall we?" The pause on the line prompted her to continue. "I know some things about you, and I'm pretty sure you know a lot about me." She took a breath. "I am with Dean now."

"_Oh_," there was puzzlement that Bela heard although she couldn't say if it referred to her confession itself or to the contents of it. "_How is he doing?_" Missouri composed herself quickly.

Bela smirked. "Perfect actually. Working. All so busy and confident and… He doesn't know that I know." She pinched the bridge of her nose. _Can't make myself to say a word_, she wanted to add but found it oddly difficult to even try and voice these words.

"_Maybe it's better that way_."

"Perhaps," Bela agreed. "I'll be back to my research as soon as I get rid of him."

She could have sworn she heard Missouri chuckle at the annoyance in her voice.

"_Okay, we'll get in touch later then. Guess I shouldn't pass my greetings to the older Winchester boy through you?_"

"I'll keep them to myself I'm afraid."

Missouri's easy laugh made Bela smile.

"_Good night, dear_." And she hung up.

Bela grabbed the remote again, pushed her bag off of the bed and flopped back onto the bedspread. She ran her fingers through her still somewhat wet hair and sighed when her sore muscles finally relaxed after this damned bloody long day and hours of not entirely pleasant ride in the car. It suddenly turned out that all the events took of her more than she first thought. Okay, maybe the things didn't go exactly as she planned, but she still had a tiny bit of time. And why would Dean care about her getting home safe or whatever?

When Dean's cell phone buzzed on the bedside table she reached for it automatically and only paused when she saw Sam's name on the display. Bela decided to answer it anyway, especially after all that fuss and wuss that Dean made when she ignored his phone the previous time.

"Dean Winchester's PA." She called out into the receiver, voice high-pitched and girly. Bela imagined that she was some blonde Barbie with long legs and without a fraction of brain. "How can I help you?" It helped.

The pause on the line was long and confused, and maybe it was cruel to play such jokes when time was nearing two in the morning, but she simply couldn't resist. The image of Sam trying to come up with an answer before her mind's eye was too tempting. And Bela even decided that she'd do almost anything to have a chance to see his face at that very moment.

"It's me, Sam," she said in her normal voice when silence started getting ridiculous, and wondered why he didn't hang up so far.

"_Oh_," Okay, that probably surprised him a lot more than Barbie from the nearest strip club as Dean's secretary, or whoever he thought she was. "_Hey, Bela_." She stared at the ceiling; counted in her mind to track time. Tried to guess how much time it would take Sam Winchester to come to his senses. "_Can I talk to Dean?_" And "_Please_," which was more than she expected.

"No, I'm sorry, but he'd busy right now. Tied to the chair at the moment with a duct tape on his mouth. Not that there is anyone around here to help him if he started screaming but his yells were getting annoying and I had to do something about them before they gave me a headache. He's my hostage from now on, I'm sure you'll understand." She studied her perfectly manicured fingernails.

Sam chuckled. "_So, the damsel I distress was you. Should've guessed from Dean's reply_."

"Thank you. I'll add a couple thousand grand to the ransom I wanted to claim for your brother for that part particularly. It wasn't really nice of him, but well, _nice_ and _Dean_…" She trailed off.

Dean left the bathroom in the cloud of steam at the exact same time with the knock on the door.

"Do you mind?!" He hissed at Bela when he spotted his cell phone in her hand.

She rolled her eyes and passed his precious property over to him before sliding off the bed to open the door. Food delivery, she guessed. She signed the receipt but told that they'd pay when checking out. If Dean could afford a room here, he surely could afford a couple of sandwiches and soft drinks as well. It was his idea to come here after all instead of saying goodbyes near her rented car.

They ate their sandwiches sitting cross-legged on the floor on the cushions pulled down from the old armchair and watching old black-and-white horror movie which Dean had chosen among other crap that was on air. Looking at rubber monsters, unconvincing zombies and artificially horrified faces Bela decided that the movie could be called _horror movie_ for the exceptionally terrible performance in the first place.

"Can't believe people actually used to enjoy that stuff," she muttered some time later when another bucket of red paint – Bela guessed that it must have been red, logically – was splashed into the camera to represent the death of yet another monster. Or a couple. She wasn't keeping track actually.

"Kidding?" Dean gasped in disbelief. "It's classics! Like… like a grandfather of all horror movies. Just imagine – people were coming to these drive-in theatres, and if it was a date, which it was in most cases, a guy had a good reason to put an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders during the scariest bits. And this," he poked his sandwich into the screen, "was freaking scary, y'know?" And sighed, as if he was speaking about the memories from the past which made Bela wonder despite herself if he was speaking from experience.

"Oh, yeah. People screamed, horrified by the fact that they actually paid for being tortured by this most terrible of all movies," Bela snorted.

"You're so boring, it is almost impossible," Dean told her after a pause. Gave her a look _Not-that-I-expected-anything-else-from- you-but-one-can-hope_.

"Guilty, but I do prefer well-equipped theatres with air-conditioning and pop-corn. Call it whatever you like. I call it good taste." She cringed when a blow of some sort – a pre-historic special effect – destroyed cardboard stage decorations that were supposed to be a skyscraper, setting panic on the screen referring to something that she didn't get. "So, Dean, what is the case about?"

"What case?" He grumbled around a mouthful of bread and cheese peering at black-and-white crowd with interest that was beyond Bela.

"The one that you abandoned without thinking for me," she smiled and made herself sound endlessly flattered.

"I did not abandon it. I left it for a little while."

"And who is boring now, huh?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible still chewing although Bela was almost sure that she saw his lips quirk into a smile for the barest of moments.

He rolled his eyes when he noticed that she was watching him expectedly, and swallowed visibly making her wonder how he didn't choke. Bela decided to ignore his manners or whatever this show was about. Shot her brows up in silent prompt.

"There's this guy… Three of his girlfriends had gone missed over the last two years." Talking didn't stop him from taking another bite though so Bela had to do her best to make out separate words not muffled by his chewing.

"Wow! That's what I'd call bad luck," she anything but whistled. "And how's the story related to you?"

"It's not just bad luck, sweetheart," Dean grinned at her. "We think that the guy kills them and then reports them missing to the police to remain above suspicion or… Well, personally I don't see his motives yet, but he must be having some."

Curious now, Bela processed the information in her mind. "Why do you think he's involved, if the police doesn't? Sixth sense?"

"Well, first of all, the police probably didn't check the archives and wasn't up to thorough research. Otherwise they'd come across one very interesting picture."

"What picture?"

"Sam found some kind of family archives or family records, or whatever, dunno, I forgot how he called it. So anyway, he showed me that picture of our guy and, believe it or not, but he looks now exactly the same way he looked some friggin' 80 years before."

Bela took her time to think it through. While excited Dean was enjoying extremely stupid battle between people and rubber lizards on the screen.

"And none of you morons supposed that your client might be a grand-grandson of the one on the picture," she hammed.

"Thank you, smartass," Dean snorted. "But the thing is that this guy… well, he sort of like never existed before he moved to this city four years ago." He made a face. "No records, no insurance numbers, nothing." Shrugged then. "Everyone has birth certificate. I mean he's not s criminal or something. Has a legal business, something to do with delivery. And these chicks… always the same story. They simply walked out of their houses and never came back. Two days later our guy calls the police and reports them missing."

"What do you think he was doing with them?"

"Dunno, but I guess he feeds on them, or their energy, or life force or… I'm not sure you'd like to listen to my theories while eating."

"Are you saying he's immortal?"

"Everything's mortal, baby," Dean smirked over the last bit of his dinner. "Sam's gonna keep an eye on him till I'm back and then I'm sure we'll find a way to stop him."

"I am so sorry for keeping you away from such exciting entertainment," she said in sugary voice and gave him a wide smile.

"Oh, you're worth it," he snickered back.

But the joke didn't work because it suddenly wasn't funny anymore. It caused heavy and tense silence instead. Made Bela wish she didn't say her line so that Dean wouldn't say his. And okay, she wished they weren't stuck together in one small room for the whole damned night in the first place. But perhaps she wished too much.

They cleaned after themselves quickly and barely looking at each other, grateful to another movie for creating background noise, which was much better than complete silence.

Bela let he bathrobe drop from her shoulders and caught it before it hit the floor. Tossed it onto her bed and gave Dean a glare when she saw him watching her.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't worry about _that_!"

Bela scowled. "Of course I don't. You made your intentions clear when you dumped me. Why would I worry about anything?"

So there…

"Listen, it wasn't… uh, I didn't…" He trailed off blushing and looked away.

"Oh, spare me, Dean! Can we stop talking about that?" Bela jerked the covers off of her bed, slid underneath them and yanked the blanket up to her very chin. Reached her hand out and turned off the light leaving Dean with two options – to try and turn it back or to watch TV in the darkness. Or, well, go to sleep, too. Shut her eyes pointedly then and said, "Good night," not really meaning it.

She lay motionless listening to the shuffling of clothes that was Dean arranging his own sleep and wishing she could just turn her consciousness off. Silence fell then and Bela guessed that he turned the TV off no longer interested in low budget stuff, but she didn't open her eyes to check it pretending that she was fast asleep by this time. Wished she could have her cat now by her side and let out a sigh.

"I really am sorry… about then," he said quietly.

"Shut up, Dean." Through her clenched teeth. She bit her bottom lip contemplating cold-hearted murder, no kidding this time.

They lay in silence for a while, none so much as moved.

The sheets were crisp and smelled nice and Bela actually started to believe that she had a chance to catch a couple of hours of decent sleep, too exhausted to suffer from insomnia.

"Bela?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"What?" She hissed, her own voice implying that wasn't up to anything but another fight.

"Tell me the story."

"A _bedtime_ story?"

"Your story. About how you got to know… things."

Bela opened her eyes at last. A car passed by outside, the light slid across the wall and the ceiling. She waited for the sound of the engine to fade away and only then registered the beating of her heart, fast and uneven.

"It's nothing," she breathed out.

A pause.

"Please."

Not that it was a big secret, she thought. Just a part of her life that she never was giving too much thinking to, let alone telling it to someone. Nothing more than that. She could make it his dying wish… And what a terrible thought that was!

But then, if – _if!_ – her plan didn't work, if nothing worked, and she was too realistic to hope too much, he had so little time left and she might as well give him that small thing. What would it change if she did?

"My father was in sales business," she whispered, images of the early years of her life flashing before her mind's eye. "Antiques, collectibles. Such kind of stuff. He was the best." Bela caught a movement out of the corner of her eye; felt Dean looking at her now, but didn't turn to face him; kept on staring up instead. "He shot my mother and then himself when I was nine. It was something that he touched, a possessed object that affected him. Something cursed, I guess. Of course, it wasn't the version that the police had been working with. They supposed that he had problems with business and got depressed and desperate… And I was just lucky that he either forgot about me sleeping upstairs or had other reasons not to kill me."

Her throat clogged when the memories that she kept in the father corner of her mind invaded her head, and Bela had to pause to swallow the lump that was making the whole speaking process nearly impossible. Horrible picture of the library, all covered with blood, and lifeless forms of her parents on the floor when she came in looking for them, and her own high pitched scream was something she wished she could erase without a trace. Sometimes she wished she died with them so that she didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night for years after nightmares that never let her go. She didn't remember the last time she was talking about it to anyone, or even thinking about it. So strange.

Dean was waiting patiently for her to continue.

"I was sent to a boarding school after that," her voice dropped even lower when she went on but Bela fought to keep it flat and emotionless. "In about a year or so a girl was killed there. Literary sliced into pieces. Everyone thought it was some psychopath who did it, which made sense of course. But then this man came… He said he was from the police but he was different from those who showed up first. He was asking strange questions, like if we heard odd noises at night or if we saw shadows or smelled something weird or other things like that."

"A hunter," Dean said when she paused. It came out if a whoosh of breath.

"Yeah, I guess so, although I've never met him or heard of him ever again. And this girl… she was my friend, and I was nosey. I made my own conclusions and I started digging. It wasn't hard to find out that some nightmares never ended with the break of dawn."

"Did you find out what happened to that… friend of yours?" He asked when she didn't say anything else.

"It was an angry spirit of some sort. And it wasn't her fault that it happened. Just wrong time and wrong place. And… I was eleven years old, for God's sake! And I was having normal life up until then. Well, maybe except for my parents dying the way they did. But then it suddenly turned out that boogeyman wasn't a fiction. It kind of changed everything." Bela cut herself off when she realized she had probably gone too far in sharing. "That's it, end of story."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.

"I don't need your sympathy, Dean. I told you it was nothing. It happened a long time ago." Her fingers squeezed the covers. Time had so little impact when it came to such things, but years of practice perfected her skill of repression. "And just for the record, just so you knew. Whatever I do, it is not for money. I've got enough not to think about them for the rest of my life." Okay, that was harder than she thought. "I do it because I like it, because it is fun. Because I don't want to be good when the whole goddamned world is so bad." Which wasn't entirely true, but maybe it would be better if he hated her for real.

"I just wanted to say that I know how it feels to lose people you love to something you can't even explain." As if he didn't hear the last part.

There was an edge to his words, and Bela wished she could make herself turn and see his face but then sudden awareness came out of nowhere. She felt her cheeks flush and her stomach twitch. Dean Winchester was going to die soon and was being bitchy for no particular reason giving him hard times again. Her reflexes working better than her mind keeping her guards up. He didn't deserve it. And yet, she couldn't force herself face him scared of seeing the Death hovering right behind him. She swallowed hard and clenched her eyes shut again. Not a chance to fall asleep.

"Thanks, Bela. For telling me, I mean."

Surprised, she breathed in sharply.

"I did it so you could feel free to leave me alone," she muttered. "I don't want to talk about any of that ever again."

He smirked in the darkness as if her words were the funniest joke ever, and Bela was relieved to know that he didn't take her harsh reply as an insult.

"Honestly, there was a moment or two when I thought you were actually raised by a monster from the closet," he said, and she knew he was smiling.

"Lovely, as always." But she was smiling too, and he couldn't have missed it.

"'Night, Bela."

She wanted to say something else, and maybe something utterly stupid, too, because she didn't get his reaction to her confessions, but then she thought she would probably start babbling and look like a fool. Wished she could reach across the space between their beds and touch him, feel him. The memory of his touch to her skin and the warmth of his body was still way too vivid in her mind. Something that Bela sometimes wished she didn't know. Sharing secrets in the darkness wasn't implying anything after all.

She curled under her covers and pulled her knees up to her chest. Thought she found a good thing to say but before she opened her mouth her consciousness gave in and sank into the darkness.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Please, tell me what you think. I love reviews :))


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's notes**: Okay, here's the longest chapter so far. I wanted to break it in two parts, believe me, but it didn't work logically. Hope this terrible number of letters and words won't bore you :))

* * *

**Chapter 7**

It was hard to say what exactly woke Bela up in the morning – the sun shining right into her face through the window, blinders up, of course; the sheer volume of the TV – she wasn't yet awake enough to concentrate on separate words; the sound of the water running in the bathroom; or the thrill of someone's cell phone. Honestly, she didn't care much about whose phone it was when she was fighting an overwhelming wish to smash it against the wall.

Bela tried to remember how on Earth she got to the place where all these terrible interferences could exist all at once – had a subtle suspicion that it wasn't her decision; couldn't be, logically – but it all came to her only when one annoying sound was replaced by another.

The water was turned off. The door to the bathroom opened and slammed and Dean Winchester, very much alive and way too awake at this time of the day, barked into her very ear, "Time to rise and shine!" And, God, what time was it anyway?

Bela groaned in protest and hid her head under the pillow. Heard him go around his bed and grab the cell phone – it turned out to be his cell phone after all. Of course.

"Heya, Sammy!"

Well, at least he muted the TV, now that was a relief.

"No, we're fine." A snicker. "No, both alive, no one's bleeding."

Bela snorted and wished she could mute Dean Winchester just as easily.

"Okay, fine… Behave. See ya'."

Apparently, he hung up after that.

He grabbed Bela's pillow then and tossed it aside, presumably to his own bed. Clapped his hands for good measure. "Aren't you ready to be up and around?"

"Go to hell, Dean," she moaned and covered her head with a blanket feverishly trying to recall where her gun was. Anything for an hour of peace and quiet.

"Aw, come on, Bela!" He yanked the blanket unceremoniously off of her. "You're not going to stay here for the rest of the day, are you?" And after a pause. "Well, if you do insist, I can try and change our room for something with a king-size bed." He grinned and wiggled his brows at her. Let his eyes travel up and down her not so dressed body.

And then their eyes met. And it wasn't a joke anymore; wasn't that lazy banter to kill time or annoy each other. It felt awkward and uneasy.

Bela saw that he blushed slightly and it made her feel better. At least she wasn't the one who was utterly embarrassed, but then he looked away, very quickly, and it made her feel worse. Made her feel guilty for the whole situation as if it was she who dumped him because of some stupid honor or whatever he was thinking about back then. Which okay, was showing a gentleman side of him but c'mon! This, in its turn, was irritating, because really? That was just not fair!

"You're that close to being dead, Dean," she muttered through clenched teeth scowling and struggling to pull her covers back up, and without thinking about how it sounded, too. In her mind she referred to him paying for interrupting her beauty sleep in the first place, not to his deal at all, assuming that he wasn't supposed to know that she knew and everything. And actually, she wasn't even thinking about his damnation – couldn't think about it with him around, when he still was his charming and irritating self. If she didn't know she would never guess…

They both winced at her words, and for the first time this morning Bela wished Dean left the sound of the TV on. Maybe it would have made this terrible silence less heavy and pressing. His jaw tightened and he still was not looking at her. Bela felt her cheeks heat up.

Dean let go of her blanket at last, and she anything but slumped backwards when his hands were gone as she was still pulling at it. But keeping her balance at least gave her an excuse for looking embarrassed. Better be awkward and clumsy than just _dumped_, Bela decided clutching the damned thing as if it was some kind of a shield. She fought to find a wisecrack to ease the tension but nothing came to her mind.

He cleared his throat then and clicked the TV back on; the sounds of conversation filled the room.

"You have ten minutes, and then we take off," he announced, all courtesy as always. Threw a quick glance around the room. "I have tight schedule, see. No time for your whims."

"Nice," she drawled. Scolding at him and at her presumably ruined looks at this time of the day, and this uneasy feeling in her stomach, Bela marched to the bathroom, chin tipped high with more dignity than she actually had. "Might have called me a taxi," over the shoulder.

And… God, she needed coffee. Noticed him flinch and slammed the door behind her.

Thirty minutes later they stopped to have a breakfast in the nearest diner, small and half empty.

Mesmerized, Bela listened to Dean making an order and his speech seemed to last forever. She wondered if there was anything left on the menu that he didn't name. Took a quick look inside the leather folder and dared to suppose that "_Broccoli salad"_ wasn't on the list, as well as _"Light onion soup"_. The waitress didn't seem all that surprised though; hadn't so much as blinked as her pen was running rapidly along the notepad scrabbling Dean's instructions on "extra cheese" for his burger and "double ice-cream" for his milkshake. Bela did her best so as not to suggest the woman to simply take the menu and cross out what he _didn't_ want to get, out of wish to save her time.

She looked at Dean down her nose with curiosity when his order arrived wondering how could it be possible physically for one man to consume the amount of food that normally would be enough to keep any average person well-fed during a couple of days. Remembered suddenly the number of empty ice-cream moulds on his table on the day when they first met at Biggerson's and giggled.

Dean looked up from his plate, still chewing, and observed her pancakes with maple syrup, a glass of orange juice and a cup of yet untouched coffee, and grumbled something utterly unintelligible around his mouthful of… whatever he was digging in now. Poked his fork in her direction but it gave Bela no clue about the contents of his comment. She shot her brows up and watched him with undisclosed interest for a while knowing that it probably annoyed him to death, being so thusly examined. He hemmed to that and pretended that she wasn't there at all.

Manfully, Bela put up with his moment of savagery – it looked like Dean was trying to get prepared for long and seemingly inevitable starvation – and beamed at waitress when she handed the bill to him.

"Enjoyed your breakfast, I hope?" The woman beamed too, although it was all for Dean, which in Bela's opinion was incarnation of optimism assuming her age and body complexion.

"Absolutely," Dean drawled smiling back, all teeth, and demonstrated two cute dimples on his cheeks. At least he swallowed before speaking.

Bela made an effort and looked away as though she didn't care at all. She didn't miss it that his jaw twitched. With the waitress standing there and waiting he had no chance to make her pay, which, of course, was fair since it was mostly his part of breakfast that made the bill so long. And yet it gave Bela a moment of evil satisfaction all the same. Perhaps, he thought it was a normal order of things that she paid for the food after he paid for the motel. It wasn't in Bela's opinion. So, her own smile only widened when their eyes met.

She finished her coffee still smiling and was the first to wander outside. Felt Dean's glare burn a hole in her back all the way back to the car but knew better than brining the topic up.

"I thought she was going to eat you alive," Bela said once they were speeding down the motorway.

Dean snickered. "By the looks of her, she had already had a couple of clients since her shift began." A pause. "But then again, who could blame poor weak woman? She simply couldn't resist my charm!" And he gave Bela a cheeky smile. Winked for good measure and probably thought that his not so subtle flirting was a pinnacle of her desires.

"Well, what can I say? Blaming someone for having bad taste is a crime," she snorted. Looked away to hide a smile, glad that they were back to their normal style of communication.

"Don't envy me only because I am so freakin' awesome, Bela," he told her seriously. "It is bad." And then, thoughtfully, "Maybe even one of the sins."

"Just watch the road," she rolled her eyes.

"Enjoy your time, sweetheart. I bet that chick from the diner woulda traded absolutely anything to be in your place," he pointed out, beaming and so proud of himself.

"Any time, Dean," she singsonged back, and smiled at him. "As soon as you're ready, honey. At least I wouldn't have to listen to your rambling if I had to hitchhike."

They had to short argument over the music and in the end set on Bela's choice but Dean claimed his right to control the volume since he didn't want to have his brains "blown out" because of "all that crap" that she was so "fond of". Thanked her mockingly for not turning on something with piano and violin which set her mind to searching for some classics for a while. But then Bela ignored him completely and relaxed in her seat almost happy and content by this point. Or maybe just plain sleepy.

The ride was silent after that and Bela even contemplated having a nap as she was far from well-rested. She looked at Dean who was now humming something under his breath not at all put out by her choice of music by the looks of it. He looked relaxed too, or at least not really tense. His lips were curved into a small smile, and if he still was miffed with having to be her escort for the reason that Bela didn't see, he seemed to be completely at ease with it now.

Bela had no idea for how long they were driving like this. After a while Dean raised the volume of the radio and at some point Bela started thinking that she must have dozed off lulled by the purring of the engine and monotonous scenery outside the car.

Maybe she really did and because of that the dreadful sound of Dean's mobile ringing gave her a start and made her nearly jump on her seat.

"Sammy?" Dean barked, and she wondered if it sounded to Sam as deafening as it sounded to her.

Bela straightened herself up and stared outside, all ears by the second but pretending that she didn't care.

"_Hey, Dean. Um, where are you?_"

"Honestly? No idea!" He looked pointedly out the windshield. "They have problems with road signs here. Somewhere on the way to New-York. Why? Anything happened?"

"_We've got a problem_."

"What? What is it?" Dean frowned. "I told you to watch your back when you were around that guy before…"

"_Back off, Dean. I'm fine and our guy is doing great, too, or so it looks. It isn't about him_."

"What's it about then?"

"_Remember that haunted house in Montana? Missouri, Christmas…_"

"Friggin' hard to forget." He shot a quick look at Bela and tightened his grip on steering wheel. "What's wrong with it?"

"_Gotta check it out again. They planned some estate sale there or something—"_

"An auction," Dean put in automatically.

"_What?_"

"It was supposed to be an auction."

"_How do you know?_" Sam asked after a pause.

Dean blinked.

Right. Bela told him. He could feel her looking at him now, saw out of the corner of his eye that her lips quirked into a smirk.

"Hm… didn't you tell me?"

"_No, actually I had no idea…_"

"Whatever, Sam. What happened there?"

"_So, the sale… An auction--_" Another pause. Dean heard him flipping through the papers. "_They sent a guy there, to take a look at the place and check if there was something worthy_." Sam smirked. "_You are the auctions expert, Dean. Must know better_."

"Are you going to get to the point or what?" Dean growled.

"_The point is that the guy died_."

Dean shook his head. "Oh. Of course. I should've seen it coming."

"_He had a heart attack_," Sam added.

"Are you saying that he was scared to death?"

"_Maybe. Anyway, I think you should check it out. See if this ghost lady is still active_."

"Me?" Dean chocked. "Why me? What about you?"

"_I'm kind of working here_," Sam reminded him patiently. "_It's just a ghost, Dean. You'll be fine on your own, I'm sure. How long do you think it will take you to drop Bela off and get to Montana?_"

Oh, sure. Bela. It wouldn't be fair to leave her out.

Dean glowered darkly at her.

"Don't worry, Sam. It won't take me any time at all. I'll call you later and you will give me the details, okay?"

"_Fine, stay in touch_."

"I take it you didn't tell your brother about our little Christmas adventure, Dean," Bela commented as soon as he closed the phone shut.

"It slipped my mind," he made a face.

And then he swirled the steering wheel without slowing their speed down a bit, making Bela grab on the door handle before she was sent flying over the back of her seat.

She whirled around to look at the road that was supposed to bring her home.

"What the hell… Dean! What are you doing?" She demanded, confused and annoyed.

"We're going to Montana," he hissed through clenched teeth darting quick looks at her, voice on edge because of suppressed anger, or so it sounded to her.

"To… Where?! Why?"

He grumbled something completely unintelligible under his breath, which probably wasn't any kind of an answer at all. His jaw was twitching, his knuckles were white and for a moment or two Bela thought he was going to blow up, literary.

She slumped back into her seat and folded her arms on the chest. Let out a long frustrated huff. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is this all about or is it a surprise?" She asked after a while.

"I am asking you one last time, Bela – what did you take from that bloody house?"

"Thank God it was the last time!"

"Answer me, damn it!"

"I didn't…"

"Cut the crap! What did you do to piss this fucking ghost off?"

He was furious, she got that.

"I don't understand a word of what you're saying," Bela grimaced, pretty pissed off too by the point.

"It started killing people!" Dean snapped no longer able to keep his temper under control. "You don't tell me now what does it have to do with you--"

"And what? You will shoot me? Oh, please!"

"I wouldn't be pushing your luck if I were you," and there was dark determination in his voice that made Bela shiver involuntarily. If only it wasn't Dean Winchester, she would definitely take the threat seriously.

She turned away, lips pursed tight, unsure. And then, "It was a locket," pretty matter-of-factly as if it was nothing to make it look like it was her decision, not his threats, and before he actually started to believe that waving his gun at her or growling could help the matters, or scare her, or whatever, which in her opinion was simply ridiculous. He couldn't be seriously thinking that! She made a mental note to kill Sam. Of course, he didn't know about her involvement and everything but now she needed to get rid of Dean, for his own sake, instead of heading back to bloody Montana to chase the ghost. She didn't even believe that this ghost existed. For her it was a waste of precious time. Maybe she should have informed Sam on the matters after all, Bela thought with belated regret.

He took the news manfully, to her surprise. Didn't even let go off the steering wheel like she half-expected.

"A locket? Brilliant!"

"Don't look at me like this, Dean. How was I supposed to know it was such a big deal?"

"Oh, sure. And where is this amulet now?"

"A locket," she corrected.

"Whatever. Where is it?"

"No idea. I sold it almost immediately. It could be anywhere in the world by now."

Dean huffed. "That's just terrific, ya'know? You couldn't have fucked everything up more even if you tried."

"Perhaps." She shrugged. Fought to keep her cool. "So, you want to have it solved out. Now tell me once again why do you need me for this little trip?"

"Because I could use some help now that Sam's kinda busy. Besides, it was you who started all that mess."

"I did not!" She snapped but he didn't seem to hear.

"Knew it!" He muttered to himself and shook his head. "Freakin' knew that something was not right with you but just couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was."

"Your rambling is almost not annoying, Dean," Bela scoffed. "I'm sure I can get used to it in a while."

"Might as well start thinking how to deal with angry spirit," he pointed out.

"You're not going to listen to whatever I say, so why bother?"

Dean scowled at her, but said nothing against that, his teeth clenched tight so as not to start another round of a fight.

It was a bad idea. Like a really big bad idea because logically speaking he should have delivered Bela to her rich and fancy apartment first – cuff her to the pipe in the bathroom maybe – and move on with his job after that. But then he didn't have much time, too. Didn't want anyone to get hurt before he had the problem eliminated.

***

Bela must have dozed of somewhere along the way, or maybe it was just daydreaming since she wasn't sure she'd actually fallen asleep, even as warm and comfortable as she was. The fact was that when she finally bothered to pay attention to reality again the sun was already over its higher point and shining right in her face. Groaning, Bela straightened up to avoid it and it finally came to her that the car wasn't moving anymore. Furthermore, the engine was dead, and so was the music, and Dean wasn't inside, his seat empty. Bela gave herself several moments to gawk at it and then turned to look outside.

The Impala was parked at the gas station between small shop with snacks, magazines and drinks and a rather run-down highway diner. Behind her Bela saw a man in his mid-forties filling up the tank of his minivan that probably was in its mid-forties as well by the looks of it.

Bela yawned and pushed the door open, curious about where they ended up this time and wondering what exactly they were doing here, and why Dean didn't wake her up. She scanned the scenery searching for any road signs to try and define their whereabouts but spotted only faded red-and-white Coca Cola billboard that looked just as young as the whole place. That very billboard made Bela wonder if they traveled in time since she hadn't come across anything like that for a decade or so.

Dean reappeared some three minutes later when she already started thinking about getting out and looking for him – not that there were too many places to go around there – with two cardboard cups of coffee and a brown paper bag in his hands, whistling softly to himself. The image was… well, _nice_. She didn't mean to argue with him because of the locket or whatever, and even less she meant to go to Montana, but the idea of not parting for a while – when she wasn't thinking about the shortage of time – was not what she was entirely opposed to.

He saw her sitting in the car, door open and her leg stuck out, and chuckled.

"Finally decided to grace me with your company, Bela?"

"What is this place?" She inquired and looked pointedly around.

"Las Vegas," Dean rolled his eyes and passed one cup and a paper bag over to her before sliding back into his seat. Waited for her to slam the door shut and started the engine. "What does it look like?"

"Ha-ha!" Bela poked her nose into the bag and came back with a sigh, not at all impressed by his choice of pre-packed junk food. Thought it was somewhat honorable of him not to offer her anything from the diner though. Wasn't sure it was safe. "It looks like the biggest dump of a place I've ever been to, thank you. We are not lost, are we?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Just making sure you know where we are."

"Of course I do. We're…" he paused. "We are…"

"Dean."

"I know! We're leaving…" His thoughtfully crumpled forehead smoothed. "Wyoming! Yeah, Wyoming." And he grinned at her, so damn proud that Bela nearly smiled back.

"I never passed this horrible place whenever I was driving to Wyoming."

"Did it ever occur to you that there was more than one road in this country, Bela?"

"Apparently, I was waiting for you to make it clear to me," and she smiled this time, all teeth.

None of them so much as spoke after that.

Dean turned the music back on; raised the volume when she made an attempt to help him with directions and concentrated on humming the tunes instead of listening to her. Bela held back a crack about his "natural ability to navigate" that he seemed to be so proud of and that he didn't miss a chance to brag about whenever she was offering to check the map. In the end, she gave up and pretended that she didn't care.

She took her time to give him a speculative look when Dean was all so busy with turning here and there to get them back to the main highway.

He didn't look like he was dying, Bela realized with surprise. And if she didn't know for sure… If Sam didn't confirm Missouri's words by appearing on the horizon… She wondered how could Dean be looking so relaxed and carefree and like he had a whole life ahead. It came to her suddenly, if a little belatedly, that they first met _after_ he made a deal. She simply didn't know what he looked like _before_ that but still… It was nearly impossible to believe that he was going to die really soon. Aside from the fact that he seemed to be a little tired – was working, hadn't had good sleep in a while – there was nothing about Dean Winchester that screamed about death. Something that she half-expected to notice now that she _knew_. Could it really be that he made himself believe that he didn't care at all? Not a tiny bit?

Absently, Bela wondered how the things would go… _after_. Would Sam stick to the job in memory of his father and brother or would he leave it for good and find better things to occupy himself with? They were both devoted to what they were doing, she knew that, but obviously for Dean this devotion was natural, like something running in the blood, whereas it always seemed to her that Sam was having his reasons to be into this whole hunting thing. The reasons she didn't know about. As hard as it was to imagine Dean without Sam, she could still see him hunting alone. The same thing did not apply to Sam.

And what would happen to this stupid car? Dean Winchester's love for all times. Bela snickered – mentally – at the thought. And why would she care about some stupid car when the man sitting beside her now was going to be damned for eternity in some three months and several bloody days? Probably because she still couldn't see it happening. Maybe if he did look like he was dying…

But he was hunting, or whatever.

Bela tried to imagine herself in his place. Several short weeks and then – nothing. Would she spend a single minute on her job? Hardly. She liked it. Loved it for the mixture of thrill and delight. But it was just a job, not a meaning of her life. No goals. So if… First of all she'd try to find a way to survive, and then, if there was no way, she'd try harder. And if she didn't succeed… She knew she'd never give up.

Dean wasn't even fighting. Of course, he had Sam for that.

As for her, she had a big empty apartment and a cat for a company whenever she had a few days for herself. If only she'd ever been in his place, she'd be all alone. Oh, God, what a selfish thought! How could she be thinking about some damned _ifs_ when…

She was all so warm and relaxed now, after coffee and with the sun still shining. Not in her face thankfully. She could practically feel Dean by her side. Could feel the scent of his after-shave lotion. Could even feel the energy radiating from him as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Just like Sam said – he was obviously taking everything like some kind of adventure. And all things considered, she couldn't not to admire of it.

And then Dean turned and gave her his cheeky boyish smile absolutely oblivious to the mess in her head. Obviously, he forgot about their earlier fight by now and was simply enjoying the trip and the music and whatever he was thinking about, and it all felt so good and yet was so damn wrong at the same time. And Bela knew right there and then that she couldn't stand a moment in this car, with him so close because she knew that behind his façade he was steadily preparing himself for his own death as if it was the most normal thing ever.

Bela looked at him again and blinked; tried to imagine how it would feel when his time was out; when she would know for sure that he wasn't going to randomly pop into her apartment to entertain himself with quippy banter. But she… she _did_ care! After all the time that they had spent together, she not only she _cared_, she also…

"Stop the car," Bela forced out through the lump in her throat looking straight ahead out the windshield and doing her best to keep breathing.

"What?" Dean blinked, confused.

"Stop the bloody car, Dean," she demanded, her voice shaking.

Whatever he thought about her request, or the reasons for it, he did what she asked without a question; turned the steering wheel and hit the brakes. Bela undid her seatbelt – the second attempt worked better than the first one assuming that her fingers were trembling – and pushed the door open before the car came to a full stop, engine still running. Didn't want him to see her like that. Didn't want to be like that, terrible mess in her head and salt burning her eyes, but it was no longer under her control.

Bela was out of the Impala and stomping back to where they came from, high heels of her shoes digging into the gravel roadside. She half-hoped fresh air would help the matters but white hot pain in her chest was only growing worse with each second, becoming nearly unbearable and not allowing her anything but small shallow breaths. Hell if it was going to work.

Driver's door opened and slammed shut right behind her. Absently, Bela thought she made it farther, like a whole mile in just a few seconds.

"Fine, what now?" Dean snapped, the sound of his voice cutting into her like a knife.

Bela stopped in her tracks not able to make one step more, not able to even see anything around, hyperventilating and so completely destroyed, fighting back the tears and shamefully losing this battle. It was so damn easy to distance herself from the situation when she talked herself into pretending that it was about _Dean's_ life. Just another job to do. But here, now, with him within arm's reach, it turned out that she cared a bit more than she'd like or was intended to.

"What the hell do you think…" he cut off; realization that something was not quite right finally reached him. Probably. Maybe. "Bela?" Cautiously.

And when did he get so close?

But she barely had time to wonder because his hands were on her shoulders turning her to face him, pulling her close. Through heavy sobs that she couldn't hold back anymore, Bela heard him whispering something soothing, his arms holding her so tight that it somehow ruled normal breathing out generally even if she was capable of it at the moment.

"It's okay," he murmured into her hair, his breath tickling the top of her head. "Whatever it is, it is nothing. It's okay."

And these words were so ridiculous and out of place that she wanted to chuckle, or laugh, loud and hysterical, but this impulse turned into another convulsive and embarrassing sob.

He was dying, and they had wasted so much time for nothing. How could _anything_ be okay?

"Listen, if you don't want to go to Montana so much…"

The wish to laugh was back. He was a dolt after all! But the thought only made her cry harder. "I know about your deal, Dean." Oh, God, was that terrible high-pitch whine hers? Better be a mistake!

He went completely still, his heartbeat accelerated. Apparently, whatever he expected to hear – _I broke my nail; I'm sick of the music you're listening to; I hate Montana so much that I can't stand even the idea of going there again_ – it wasn't that.

Her tearstained face hidden in the hollow of his neck, Bela caught her breath scared all of a sudden of his reaction to her words. Scared of him pulling back and running away; that wouldn't surprise her. Scared that she'd said too much when she probably shouldn't have.

But he didn't pull back, and it didn't look like he was planning to run away. On contrary, his grip around her tightened and his hands started stroking her back as if it was her to be comforted when _he_ was dying. And, God, she didn't want him to die!

Bela wanted to ask… so many questions but then she wasn't all that sure she wanted to hear his answers, like that he never said a word to her because she was pretty much no one, or that it was none of her business, or that he didn't want her to be around, or something else that she feared he could be thinking. Didn't want to give him one single reason to actually pull back or something. Didn't want to look back at all the things that had gone wrong between them from the start.

"Please, Bela," he whispered into her ear. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry…"

Sorry for what? For her tears? For his deal? For letting them both be such terrible fools for so long? For something else? His voice implied that it was a normal thing for Dean to be sorry even for the things that he could not control, as if he was seriously intending to save the world.

"Don't," she pleaded. "Don't, Dean…" Her voice faded away.

And that was like what? The most meaningful conversation ever? Poor attempt to use the words in the situation when none of them had any sense.

He gave her time to let the storm pass, rocking her like a child all the while, and then pulled back as much as it was necessary to look her in the face. Propped her chin on his knuckle to make her look back at him. Bela was still breathing in big huffs, which was even more embarrassing than the whole crying thing, and she forced herself not to think about what she must be looking like, with puffy eyes and her make-up all over her face. His sad smile caught her off-guard and she failed to figure out what it was about. But then he was kissing her and it sent her head spinning, practically sweeping all thoughts out of her mind. It felt desperate and needy, and then it was over all too soon, or so it seemed to her, although it left Bela completely breathless.

She felt his lips on her forehead before Dean pulled her against his chest once again. Thought she heard him saying something, and it probably was something utterly stupid, too, but then maybe she was wrong.

The cars kept passing by them, stirring the air and leaving the smell of warm rubber and the sounds of music behind, but all she could think of was the weight of his touch and… Only three and a half months left.

***

The tears were gone but Dean doubted it could be called an improvement. Perhaps, she simply ran out of them for now. Bela was sitting on her side of the front seat, her forehead leaned against cool glass of the window and her breath still uneven and convulsive. She never looked at him ever since they got back into the car. He doubted she so much as moved.

It felt strange. Not really awkward yet. Maybe because normally he didn't have to deal with tears. Not in such kind of way. Not when somebody was crying _over_ him the way Bela did not more than an hour ago, so desperate and heartbreaking. Hell, she was not so good actress to fake it. But it felt nice. Not the fact that he made her cry of course. The very idea of it was making Dean wish to run away. To die. The last thing he ever wanted was to make her – anyone – cry. He felt like an asshole for making her feel like that. Making her cry and kissing her after that. Great! Now how much screwed he was after that?

Damn it, how could he ever have imagined that Bela Talbot _could_ cry? Like, at all! Cold heartless bitch that she was, or so he willed himself to think of her. And yet, here they were. And knowing that the woman who was haunting his dreams for months kind of felt bad about his death made him feel all warm inside, no matter how stupid it was.

So, it was going the wrong way from now on. His whole plan to stay away from causing any more trouble fell to shit and deep inside Dean hated himself for letting it happen. Hell, what was he doing? What was he thinking about? It wasn't just a bunch of not-yet-killed monsters and a rather shady future he was going to lose. It was something else. Something new. Something that he had no idea about. One more goodbye. One more broken heart. Or two, his assumed.

The problem was that Bela, damn her, was different. Independent. Strong. Confusing like hell. Totally insufferable most of time which was only making her more attractive, in masochistic way, Dean started to believe.

She never asked him to be a hero. Perhaps never expected him to be one and every single thing about her was telling that she doubted he could be anything more but a clumsy moron, the biggest fool for her tricks. But for some reason – maybe out of contradiction more than anything – he wanted to be a hero for her. Wanted so much to be more than she expected.

He failed Dad when he let him die, Dean thought. He failed Sam when he let him die, too, and the only way to make it up was to leave him all alone to deal with all the mess he was leaving behind. And this life wasn't even Sam's choice. His own life was a mess, barely a thing or two to remember when his time was out. He didn't want to add Bela to his People I Let Down List, too. How could he ever dare to hope that he was anything she ever wanted? He had no right to keep her back, knowing that he was going to break his every promise in the end. He simply had no right to do that. But he wasn't sure he could keep running away…

Bela sighed softly – or sniffed, more likely. He looked at her, quickly at first, and then let his eyes linger on her face, the outline of her profile dark against the window. His hand found hers after a while and stayed, his fingers clenching and unclenching absently around hers as he kept watching the road, his skin so much hotter than hers. She didn't turn to him even for a moment, but her palm opened eagerly, and she squeezed his hand tight with the strength he didn't expect from her.

"What have you done, Dean?" It wasn't a question. Not the one that required an answer.

"Everybody dies sooner or later." He said all he same. "One way is as good as any other if you ask me. See no difference." He spent several freaking short months to actually start believing that. Death was just death. So what? Nothing special. And then, "I couldn't do it any other way, you know." She nodded slowly after a pause. Of course he couldn't. "Listen, Bela, I didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean to make a deal? Was it an accident?" Strange that she was still able to joke – the comment slipped out of her mouth as if on the will of its own – but then again it could have been a defense reaction of the remains of her sanity struggling to keep the pieces of her mind together.

His lips quirked into a small smile, automatic and humorless and it didn't touch his voice when he spoke again. "No, I was talking about…"

"I know," she stopped him before she started apologizing again, for her discomfort, and her tears, and the things none of them could change. Cool glass against her forehead was somewhat soothing to the fire in her mind.

For the wasted time, Bela added mentally, which was the worst. She couldn't stand listening to it and she didn't want to start crying again because it probably was more than _he_ could stand. Didn't want to start falling to pieces. He was here now, all so warm and solid, and he was holing her hand tight enough to make her believe that it actually meant something. So she was fighting the burning in her eyes fearing to ruin the moment.

"It's not like I planned it or something," he told her.

_It's not like anyone would keep such plans in mind_, she wanted to say. He almost heard her thinking that. And what could he possible say against that?

"I never wanted to end like that," Dean confessed somewhat apologetically. "Always thought I would go down fighting, in a blaze of glory," and he couldn't hold back a short chuckle. "Like in old westerns, right on my horse. Well, not that I have one," he trailed off.

"There is nothing glorious about death," Bela whispered.

"Aw, come on!" He poked her in the arm. "Everyone wants to be a superhero in the end. Besides, what if they are right? What if all strippers and hookers and poker players go to hell after death?" He sounded almost dreamy now. Maybe thinking about hell in porn style was his way not to go crazy. "If it is true, I am going to have a frigging lot of fun there. What if hell is a strip bar where poker game never ends?"

"And what's hellish in that?"

"Mm… you can't win?"

"Keep moving that way, Dean. Get on their nerves. You'll irritate Devil to death and he'll kick your ass right back to life," she scoffed. And then, "Oh, hell." On a sigh, she undid her seat belt – who would care about the rules or safety or other crap in such situation? – and moved closer to him.

Dean let go of her hand then and lifted his arm to tug her into his side. She stared out the windshield where the trees were blinking way too fast to concentrate on them. Moved even closer to him – not that she ever was much into all this cuddling thing but it felt quite right in the given situation – when his finger slipped through the mass of her curls and ran up and down the back of her neck. Real and so alive, the touch made her skin tingle.

She wasn't up to giving up yet, but his inner defeat was somewhat catching, and she wondered – maybe for the first time ever – if there _really_ was no hope for him at all. Normally, strong self-preservation was holding her away from such thoughts.

As for death… Death was just death to her. End of everything. Simple as that. Not really religious in any way, Bela had problems with the very concept of hell. Wasn't all that sure that _the_ hell existed. Not in a _sinners suffering in boiling oil_ way at least. Truthfully, she never gave much thinking to the other side having too many things to worry about in real life. But all in all it didn't look like there was a way to avoid it in the end, so why bother?

But Dean's damnation made things look different. It made them look scary and real. It made her wonder what exactly was waiting for him there. She hated thinking about it but couldn't help herself.

Missouri was wrong after all. He cared. He was frightened, no matter how much he tried to pretend. She could feel fear and hopelessness in everything about him, as though he knew something that she didn't, and wished she knew what to say to make it easier. The problem was that it was hard to say the words that did not exist.

***

Of all the things in the world that Bela Talbot hated most crying definitely topped the list, let alone crying in public – if only Dean Winchester could be called public. But then, why not?

She opened his eyes after being nudged off of his shoulder when the Impala came to a stop realizing that she had probably fallen asleep somewhere along the way, exhausted from crying, and clamped them shut again on a groan. Buried her face in her palms, rubbing at her eyes, and wished she wouldn't wake up for a week or two.

"And here we are," Dean signsonged with inexplicable cheerfulness right into her ear only to make her realize that she could feel free to add growing headache to the list of uncomfortable feelings in her body. Bela tried not to notice her somewhat sore neck.

Slowly, she repeated the attempt to get back to reality, out of wish to see where exactly they were more than anything since she missed… Oh, what time was it again? Okay, she missed _several_ hours, that would do for now. It was dark outside and the air that Dean let into the car when he got out was cool. Bela shivered and groped for her jacket.

Oh, finally, a motel, or whatever, she thought and sighed with relief.

"Okay, where are we?" She asked getting out after him and then hopefully, "Are we stopping for the night?" Were they in Montana yet? Could be. The wind was fierce and it seemed especially freezing after all so warm and cozy Impala. She felt like a mess, rather cramped from the ride and everything that happened.

"Nope, we're moving right to work," Dean announced enthusiastically, beaming, and it sounded as though he was talking about a trip to Disneyland.

Bela blinked, and it took her the whole two seconds to realize that the Impala was parked right in from of Mrs. Charleston's mansion. It was too dark to even see the outlines of the house but it was impossible not to recognize the fence covered with ivy and low squealing of the weathercock on the roof, creepy and strangely loud in nearly complete silence.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she turned to Dean who was standing at the open trunk and going through whatever junk was stashed there. She failed to understand how he could see anything there without any light.

He came up with a shotgun, checked the load, slammed the trunk close and then grinned at her – that was impossible to miss. "Watch me."

The gate was ducted with yellow police tape as any other crime scene would be, which – of course! – wasn't a big thing for Dean Winchester to deal with. It still wasn't locked – why would police care about that even after someone was killed inside of the house? – and when Dean pushed it open, it squealed dreadfully in protest reminding Bela for some reason of a low-budget horror movie they watched the night before. To make the picture full, it started to drizzle.

"Dean!" She paused on the sidewalk on the other side of the gate, the safe one she hoped, watching him making his way across the front yard not at all eager to follow. "Oh, crap!" Looked helplessly back at the Impala and marched after him.

Bela caught up with him on the porch where Dean had already removed another piece of yellow tape that was lying at his feet now and was working on picking the lock. She thought somewhat distractedly about the key from that very door that was lying in yet another purse of hers back at home, in Queens. Thought about how great it would be to be there instead. God, she missed her apartment and her cat and…

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her primary intention was to simply speak in a low voice but annoyance made it sound like an angry hiss.

The lock gave in at last. Dean turned the knob and pulled the door open. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I am definitely not!" But she entered the hallway after him swearing to dear God that she was so not going to stay there a moment more than it required to drag Dean out. "You said someone died here from heart attack."

"He was kinda spooked to death," he nodded.

"So, what's the general idea? Trying to commit suicide?"

"I am working," he pointed out and gave her a look over the shoulder. "You can go and wait in the car."

"For God's sake, Dean! Can you stop doing things only because they piss me off?"

"What?" He stopped and span around spluttering. "Don't you think you're…"

But he never finished what he wanted to say because that very moment front door that Bela left open when she came in slammed shut with a loud _bang!_ and cut him off.

Bela whirled around and stared at it, panic rising inside of her. Not actual horror yet, but that was close, too. "Oh, great!"

Dean reached the door in two big strides and wiggled the knob. Looked at Bela. "It's locked," he said as if it was necessary. As if she didn't know it already.

"Of course it is locked." Oh, it was so not her day! "Now what, Einstein?"

"Now?… Oh, shit! Get down!" He grabbed her by the arm and yanked Bela down, and as soon as he did it something whistled through the air where their heads were just a second ago and cut into the door.

Dean looked up and his eyes grew unnaturally wide. He swallowed uneasily. Bela dared to raise her head too and follow his gaze, which probably was a bad idea. She felt her blood run cold in her veins when she saw a hilt of a wide kitchen knife swinging from side to side, its blade stuck deep in this thick piece of red wood that was the front door.

"Cute," she commented in trembling voice feeling slightly dizzy at the thought of being nearly pinned to that very door with that very knife. Turned to meet Dean's eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Any bright ideas?"

"Stay close—"

"Sure as hell I will."

"—and away from the fire line." He scanned the hallway one more time before getting up himself and helping Bela to her feet. Shifted shotgun in his hand to have better hold of it. "We better get out of here now."

"Shouldn't have come here in the first place," she grimaced to his back following him half a step behind.

"Coulda stayed in the car," Dean mimicked her for no one to be left behind.

"Oh, right! So that you could… Oh, my God." Bela stopped abruptly when her eyes fixed on the hallway wall right in front of the entrance to the living room, her fingers grasped the sleeve of Dean's jacket on a momentary rush. "I thought you said he died from heart attack."

He stopped too and looked at what she was staring, mouth open wide. Took in white outline of the body, which, to his surprise, was drawn on the wall, its lower edge half a foot above the floor. Silk wallpaper was severely ruined by a dozen of pretty big blood stains where whatever held poor man from falling down went through his body digging into the wall. Might as well be the rest of kitchen knives, Dean guessed. Sam didn't mention anything like that when he called.

"Anyone would have a heart attack if _something_ decided to play darts with them. Um… D'you have a flashlight?"

"What?! You don't have it?" She gasped. "How could it be that you haven't got a flashlight? Isn't it rule number one, or something? Jesus, Dean!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that you would let the friggin' door get closed? Besides…" Dean paused when his peripheral vision caught the slightest of movements in the living room. "Damn it! Watch out!" He pushed Bela aside and flatted her against the wall with his body.

A crowbar of some kind, one of those long metal sticks that he spotted in a holder near the fireplace during his first visit to this house flew right past them and disappeared in the darkness of the corridor. No crashing sounds followed and he wondered where the damned thing ended up. The merest hesitation would most likely have their heads smashed like pumpkins on the drunken Halloween party.

That was probably how the auction guy got his heart attack, Dean supposed sourly. When the door got locked and knives started flying around. Kinda hard to react normally when you come across something inexplicable for the first time, especially when this something is deadly dangerous, he thought.

"Is it over?" Bela asked in a whisper and the sound of her voice reminded him that he was still pressed against her, her chest rising and falling heavily against his.

"No idea," Dean breathed out realizing a tad belatedly that he'd been holding his breath all the time. He took a step back, eyes darting around, listening carefully for any sounds of the ghost's activity. "We've got to find her."

"Who?"

"Mrs…. Oh, what's her name again?"

"Mrs. Charleston."

"Whatever. There must be something that holds her here." He looked down at Bela then. Gave her a quick once-over and frowned at unnaturally pale color of her face. "You okay?" She nodded curtly. "You said the body of this old broad was never found, right? So, that's the whole plan. Find it, salt it and burn it."

"Just for the record, it is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life," she made a face quickly regaining her normal self.

"Welcome to my world," Dean gave her a wide smile. "Where do you think we should start?"

"Why do you think the body is here? I mean if it was, somebody would definitely find it, like _years_ ago. Unless, of course, she went to the basement and buried herself there to save everyone a trouble which I personally can't imagine. And by the way…" She trailed off and stared somewhere past Dean's shoulder, color draining off her face. "Oh, God…"

"What again?" He anything but groaned while turning around, shotgun up and ready. "You know what, Bela? I'm sick and tired of hearing _Oh, God_ tonight."

White, half-transparent figure was quickly closing in on them, flying a foot above the floor across the hall, its mouth open wide in soundless scream, brows furrowed in fury. A ghost, and without a doubt, male if complexion and mustache were any indication.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. He aimed without thinking, his body acting purely on instinct, and pulled the trigger.

Ectoplasm formation disappeared as soon as rock salt load flew through it as if it was a balloon hit by a needle. Bela flinched at the loud sound, made an attempt to cover her ears but it faded away quickly.

"Did you see what I saw?" Dean whispered.

"I guess." She didn't sound so sure though.

"It wasn't _Mrs_. Charleston, right?"

"Right."

"Good. It wasn't my personal hallucination then. But who the hell it was?"

But before Bela opened her mouth to voice any of her guesses, the front door flew open behind them letting in a rush of cold wind, iron handle hit the wall soundly. Nearly made them both jump.

"Guess we're no longer wanted here. Better get the hint. Come on," Dean pushed Bela forward to the door and followed close by covering her back in case the ghost decided to show up again. "Freaking jerk," he muttered to himself shaking his head while they were making their way down the walkway to his car. "I told you something was not right with this place!" He announced with what she thought was some kind of supremacy; all _See? I was right!_

"I thought you said it was a woman."

"It was a woman, back then." He paused, considering something or another. "You know, it could be…" thoughtfully. "I've got an idea--"

"Yeah, me too!" She turned on her heels abruptly making Dean anything but run into her. Looked up and at his face. "We're done with hunting for tonight. It's cold. It rains. And it doesn't look like anyone in their right mind will come here any time soon to die slow and painful death." Paused for a moment and watched dubious feeling flash across his features. "Bloody hell, Dean, please." Bela stepped closer and pressed her lips to his. "Please," she repeated in a whisper as her eyes fluttered shut while she was trying to get control of her breath, her heart hammering so loud in her chest that she could barely hear the sound of her own voice, her thoughts muffled and not at all attuned to anything ghost-related.

"Should've sent you back to Queens, to your fancy apartment and your rich toys--"

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Can you do me a favor?" He made a noise, yes or no she didn't get. Perhaps he didn't either. "Just for once in your life, shut up."

***

It was raining cats and dogs outside, heavy raindrops hammering against the rooftops and outer windowsills, the bursts of thunder were almost deafening. As though in contrast with strong wind outside darting sharp needles of cold rain at whatever and whomever it could reach, small motel room was warm and lit with candles, their amber glow dancing on the walls, giving soft shades to every single thing around.

There was no need for words; the silence was disturbed only by soft whisper, barely audible through the storm. None of them daring to hope for something else but both wishing for more. Guards down, fingers entwined in locks that couldn't be broken. Desperate urge not to let go. As though the world did not exist while they were in each other's arms. As though nothing existed at all, even death.

She was all he ever wished for.

He was so much more than she thought she deserved.

But as soon as these thoughts appeared, they were erased by the gentle touch of lips and unspoken promises, giving new meaning to their whole existence.

Dean woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of still enraged nature. Not yet fully free from another nightmare that seemed to him even more terrible after almost unbelievable magic of hours before, he groped awkwardly around, half-fearing not to find Bela – the thought was nearly unbearable – when he realized with belated panic that he couldn't hear her breathing in the darkness, not like he could always hear Sam's light snoring, until his hand came in contact with her warm form tangled in sheets and covers half a foot away from him, fast asleep, her own worries taken away by the dreams.

Should have been strong enough to let her go, he thought as he watched her peaceful features. And as he thought about it, he knew that it was beyond him, impossible. On some primitive level he wanted so badly to need her. Wanted so badly to be needed by her.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Thanks for reading. Reviews and comments are always love :))

And here is a little teaser for the following chapters: http:// www. youtube. com/ watch?v=p8M6fGxqFSQ

**Warning!** Contains spoilers! *but the song is lovely ;)*


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note:** Hi, everyone! Well, first of all I'd like to thank you all for your attention and reviews and support. Can't even begin to say how much it means to me :))

Okay, no extra words. Hope you'll like this chap as well :))

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Nightmares had always been a part of Dean Winchester's life. All the things he saw ever since he turned five, all the things he heard about, all the tings he had to go through – his mind was storing them neatly to extract them one after another years later when he least expected. But Dean learned to control it. Willed his consciousness to block out everything that could make him wake up in the middle of the night with his heart jumping out of his chest and his face covered with cold sweat, unable to fall asleep for hours after that.

He was doing fine for years, coping, pretending, whatever was the best definition in the situation. But then his father died and it all was back, every single memory, as if to remind Dean that he was the reason why John Winchester ceased to exist. Cruel taunt to tell him who was meant to die instead.

It all got even worse when he made a deal. Sleep became a big problem on the night when Dean signed his own death sentence. Something that he was accepting as is became a torture. No distractions and no amount of alcohol were of any help. His only salvation became his job. Exhaustion was what he was striving for now, the kind that let him fall into dreamless black hole, more defense reaction of his body than anything else. It wasn't brining him actual rest but it helped to create illusion and hide the truth – Dean Winchester didn't want to die and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He was seeing fire now. Everywhere. Around him. Inside of him. Fire that was burning down his humanity, and everything that it was leaving was black ash and emptiness. Fire that once consumed his mother. He could see her gentle features before his eyes. Something to concentrate on when pain became insufferable. And every time he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, it was getting worse…

And here he was usually waking up. Some part of him knew that it was just a dream and that it was over but he couldn't stop thinking that subconsciously he was getting prepared to what was waiting for him ahead. Sick games of his mind so that he wasn't surprised when his dreams turned into reality.

It wasn't a nightmare that woke Dean up early in the morning this time though. It was buzzing of his cell phone on the nightstand, sound turned off for the night, annoying and so damn untimely when he finally got a piece of restful sleep.

Dean rubbed at his eyes trying to clear the sand out of them and reached for his phone; saw Sam's name of the screen and flipped it open cognizant of the volume of his voice.

"I'll call you back in a minute," he breathed out into the receiver before Sam had time to say a word and hung up trying to remember if he saw coffee machine in the hallway somewhere last night. "I'll be right back," Dean whispered, his lips grazed against Bela's shoulder although she hadn't so much as moved. He smiled when she muttered something unintelligible in her sleep, got dressed as quickly and quietly as possible and started dialing Sam's number as his hand pulled the door close behind his back.

When he returned to the room some forty minutes later, two plastic cups of coffee from the nearest diner that he found ten miles down the highway in a holder in his hand, he saw towel-clad Bela standing on her knees between the bed and the window, her head down and leaving only the most appetizing part of her body for Dean to enjoy. He paused in the door, head tilted to the shoulder as he watched her; one brow arched expressively.

"Wow! Whatever you're doing there, I like it," he commented smirking. "Quite a view!"

Bela snapped her head up when the door slammed behind him, dove down once again for a moment and finally got to her feet then.

"I was looking for my earring," she explained and demonstrated him the aforementioned object, small piece of gold that winked at Dean teasingly in the sunlight. "Where have you been?"

"Coffee?" He lifted up the holder. "Nice outfit." Smiled as his eyes traveled up and down her body with undisguised appreciation. And anything but froze to the spot when she came up to him, rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his proving yet again that there couldn't possibly be anything predictable about Bela Talbot in the world. She smelled like soap and something sweet, and if her presence in his motel room – the very fact of it – wasn't enough to make him lose his mind completely, that was what did the job. "You do realize that this isn't going to lead us anywhere?" Dean whispered almost hating himself for the question.

"I guess." Bela dropped another small kiss near the corner of his moth fighting to keep her cool at the sound of desperation in his voice. "And you do realize that I don't give a damn?"

"I guess," he echoed.

She looked up then and frowned at the sight of dark circles under his eyes and somewhat worn-out expression. His smile wasn't even half as bright as it could be. And Bela resisted a wish to smooth the crease between his brows. Wished there was something she could do.

"Did you sleep at all?" She inquired.

"Not that we had much time for it," he grinned and winked at her.

"Dean."

"Why would anyone waste their time for sleeping when…" He trailed off on a nonchalant shrug. Broke eye contact and looked somewhere over her shoulder.

Bela bit her bottom lip. She hated talking about it. Hated like hell even thinking about it. Hated this damned feeling of helplessness that swept all over her whenever she dared to remind herself that each day was brining them closer but she swore to herself that she wouldn't ever cry again. Not with him around. She was not going to make it harder for any of them. There still was hope. There still was enough time to think something out. To cheat bloody demons. Wasn't it the whole idea? Cheating one's way through life to survive.

"We've still got things to do," Dean cleared his throat and then fished several sheets of paper rolled in a tube from the pocket of his jacket. Bela looked at them, intrigued. "Sam sent those to the fax on the reception," he told her nodding his head indefinitely, referring to the hallway, Bela figured.

"What's there?"

"No idea, but he was so friggin' excited when he called that I think it's a real bomb."

"I bet," she hemmed and gave her mobile phone a displeased look.

No new messages. No missed calls. Whatever Sam Winchester was excited about, it had nothing to do with helping his brother, otherwise she was sure he'd contact her first, just in case. Meaning, whatever Sam Winchester was occupying himself with, it was nothing but crap. It was frustrating. Almost as frustrating as Dean's fake – or just oversized – excitement over the case that would mean nothing in the end if he…

Bela refused to even start thinking about it.

She left Dean to get dressed and to blow-dry her hair. Let the door to the bathroom stay open and could hear him muttering something to himself. Dean turned the TV on, or so Bela guessed when other voices, both male and female, filled the room. A scrape of chair legs against the floor followed. She smiled to herself without any particular reason. Three and a half months. Three and a half moths could be a whole eternity.

When she came back in about ten minutes she found Dean sitting at the table, legs crossed under his chair, flipping through that pile of paper that he received from his brother and sipping his coffee. Amused, wondering and somewhat satisfied, he looked like a dog that got on the tracks of a fox. Or like a fox who got into the hen-house, which was a better comparison when speaking about Dean Winchester. His lips were moving as if he was reading soundlessly under his breath. And yet he was smirking to himself, if this slight curve of his lips was any indication. Whatever he found there, it was either funny, or interesting. Or both.

He looked up, naughty boyish grin on his face.

Bela arched her brows in wordless question and darted a pointed glance at the papers.

Dean caught her at the belt loop of her jeans as soon as she was within arm's reach and pulled her closer quieting her soft laughter by his kiss. Heavy mass of her hair fell over her face when she bent down to accommodate his hold on her waist. He raked his fingers through her curls to brush them away. Her palms on his shoulders, Beal looked curiously at him with a small smile on her lips. Sweet smile, just for him, Dean knew it. The one that she had when she didn't try to keep her emotions under control. Or when she thought he wasn't looking. The one that was steadily taking his breath away.

"What?" Bela asked.

He blinked. "Um… nothing." Smiled back then. "Would you like to have breakfast first, or would you rather we started right with the cemetery?"

"Are there no other options?" She whispered leaning down.

"Mm, if you put it that way… I'm sure we'll think something out."

***

Bela wasn't sure if he was serious about the cemetery – because really? The cemetery? – until Dean shoved a map at her and ordered her to direct him as he was busy watching the road, which was a lousy excuse.

The cemetery he needed was the oldest in the area and according to the map it was located at the very border of the town. Dean-The-Expect informed her that the last burial took place there some twenty years ago or so before new cemetery was organized in another part of the town. Bela took it as unspoken promise that they most likely wouldn't get caught doing… whatever Dean had in mind.

They missed right turn twice, which gave him a chance to bitch about Bela's poor navigation skills, and had to circle the area for a little while until Bela courteously offered him to "slow down, for God's sake!" so that she could at least read the names of the streets, all under Dean's displeased glances as if it was all her fault that they got lost. As if it was she driving the damned car, she added mentally, scowling back at him.

They fumed silently at each other until the very time they reached centuries' old massive iron gate with a terrifying heavy padlock on it. Dean parked the Impala behind thick bushes so that it couldn't be seen from the road and received a crack from Bela on his "squatter habits". He made a face at her and contemplated making her climb over the fence instead of picking the padlock, wondering whether she would choose to stay behind and hover outside waiting for him.

The area didn't seem to be overcrowded since the cemetery was located away from the main highway and generally speaking no one was really interested in making a circle purely out of wish to enjoy the view of old crosses and gravestones. Besides, it looked pretty creepy, too, what with all these old trees, still naked and knotty, and Bela looked around startled by inexplicable silence.

The padlock was rusted and the whole place seemed long abandoned. Yet, they took their time to hang around for a while before Dean fished a bunch of picklocks from the pocket and knelt by the gate.

"Hope the friggin' thing's still working," he muttered under his breath.

"Take you time, Dean. Have fun."

"Just keep watching, would ya?"

"That's what I'm doing," Bela stepped closer as though to cover him with her body in case they were spotted. "Are you done there yet?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Time is money. I'm losing both now," she snorted, and then looked down at him and smiled, all charm in the flesh. _Besides, I'm sure we can find a better way to spend time_, she added to herself.

"We'd come here an hour ago if it wasn't for you inability to read the map," Dean pointed out, and then, "Okay, gotcha!" before Bela had time to protest. Or kill him, depending.

The gate squealed when Dean pushed it open. Black crow on the tree turned its head in their direction and cocked it watching the new-comers with curiosity, its eyes two black beads. Bela spotted the bird and shivered despite herself.

Dean let her in first, looked around one last time and followed right behind, a shovel he retrieved from the trunk of his car in his hand. He closed the gate then and returned the padlock to where it had been before so that it looked untouched, except that he didn't lock it this time.

The earth was still damp and rather soft after the rain that had fallen the pervious night. High heels of Bela's shoes were digging deep into it as Dean and she were making their way through the cemetery, circling around tombstones and low fences surrounding some of them. Concentrated on reading the names and dates on them since none of them knew where exactly Gregory Charleston's grave was located, she tripped several times and nearly fell once. She scowled to herself when she thought she heard Dean smirk; contemplated elbowing his somewhere unfortunate. As accustomed to the cemeteries as he was, he seemed to be having no problem with walking as though he had flat asphalt beneath his feet.

Yet, after her heel got stuck in the crack between the stones and Bela nearly left it right there for good, Dean rolled his eyes, all annoyance, and grabbed her by the hand, as if not to let her fall to the ground, and never let it go. He muttered something under his breath about "friggin' stupid chicks and their show-off stuff" obviously referring to her shoes. Bela opened he mouth to say something back because her shoes were nice and it sounded insulting but then clamped it shut and simply squeezed his palm tight, so warm and solid.

Gregory Charleston's tomb wasn't special in any particular way. The dates of his birth and death engraved on the marble plate were barely readable, almost completely erased by time and weather. Dean regarded it skeptically. Assuming that the Charlestons were rather wealthy he expected to see a mausoleum of some sort, to say the least.

"Here, make yourself useful," he instructed Bela handing Sam's fax over to her. "I'm sure you'll find it interesting."

"How do you know that this salt-and-burn thing is going to work?" She asked curiously watching him getting prepared for digging – one more thing she was almost sure he was kidding about.

"Because it always does," he grinned, and added, "Normally."

"Normally?"

That led to a short and not really fruitful battle over the best ways to deal with ghosts and the like in the end of which Bela announced that the only best thing of all was to stay away from them, unlike what the Winchester brothers were usually doing. Dean took it as her defeat and sneered. By this time he was already standing in knee-deep hole, and for a moment or two Bela thought about burying him right there for being so unbearably arrogant.

She forgot about him completely for a little while after that in favor of studying the papers. Circled the grave clockwise once, and then twice – counterclockwise, staying away from the piles of soil that Dean was throwing out and onto the grass without so much as looking up. At least he was right about information being interesting. And as long as Sam wasn't aware of her thoughts, she was ready to admit that he was genius if he managed to find all that.

In the end Bela stopped and leaned against the tombstone next to Gregory Charleston's, ran through the papers one more time and then looked down her nose at the top of Dean's head appearing and disappearing in the hole that kept steadily growing deeper. He was humming something under his breath, to entertain himself somehow perhaps. She smiled and then lowered herself onto the ground and crossed her legs Indian-style.

"Wanna help?" Dean stuck his head out for a moment and brushed beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Mm, thank you, but no, thank you." He hemmed. "Do you think it's true?" She asked nodding to the papers. "That it is the reason?"

He shrugged. "You saw it yourself, Bela. The guy was crazy in love with his high school sweetheart and then he dumps her one week before the wedding and marries this Meredith… um, what's her maiden name there? Anyway, you said she had the damned locket. I mean she wasn't rich, or pregnant, or that really beautiful, speaking of that. What else could it be if not love charm?"

"How about love at first sight?" Bela offered. "Come on, Dean. Don't be so cynical. Romance is not a myth."

"Kidding?" He narrowed his eyes and then caught a glimpse of a small smile that she was attempting to hide. "'Course you are." He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure she used the freaking locket to hook this guy." Dean poked down to where the coffin was supposed to be. "So, she kept him right under her thumb for years and then you stole the damned thing – let's assume it only worked when it was in the house or within some distance. Oh, I don't know! But you took it away, and it broke the charm, and the spirit of Gregory Charleston that was stuck here for some reason had gone nuts and started hunting whoever came near him or his property." He shrugged. "Maybe he realized those friggin' forty years later what his life coulda been. Honestly, I'm not all that strong in ghosts' psychology. Gotta probably call Sam for that kind of crap."

"No, no, you're doing fine. Speaking from personal experience?" Bela batted her eyelashes at him innocently. Dean smiled at her, happy and proud all of a sudden. "Yet, I'm not so sure you're right."

"Why?"

"Well, I told you how the locket works. If Meredith Charleston used it to make her husband fall in love with her, or whatever, it would've sent him to the madhouse within weeks."

"Perhaps," he nodded. "But if his dear wifey _was_ a witch, I think she could've thought out a way to make this side effect less dramatic, see." Another shrug followed. "And unless you have any other decent theory, we stick with mine."

Bela considered his words for a moment or two, and the nodded. It made sense after all, truth be told. Maybe Meredith Charleston was into witchcraft after all. Rumors had to come from somewhere, right? Maybe she did find a way to deal with the mojo consequences.

And, God, why would Bela give a damn about any of this at all? It was Dean's idea of fun to make theories, and solve mysteries, and… well, dig graves. As for her, she needed to make a phone call and talk to his stupid genius-brother and ask what the hell he was doing there if he had the damned time to send faxes.

She looked around one more time, and the whole image suddenly struck her as absolutely impossible. But before she had time to form a coherent thought in her mind, she heard a dull thud of iron against wood and Dean's victorious, "Bingo!"

Curious, Bela stood up and came closer to look down into the open grave. Dean was clearing the remains of earth from the nearly rotten redwood coffin. She wrinkled her nose. Corpses? Eww! No, thank you! At least that cursed Hand of Glory, the one she had to deal with, was mummified.

"And, let the show begin," Dean said to no one in particular, and hit the coffin's lock with the shovel. "I knew it!" He announced with satisfaction then.

The coffin was empty.

He looked up at Bela who hemmed thoughtfully at the sight of the snow-white silk insides of the rich box. One of her brows quirked up elegantly when she met Dean's eyes, probably out of surprise more than anything because she herself could see no reason for his joy.

He slammed the coffin shut first and then threw the shovel out onto the surface where it landed with a _thump!_ onto the damp grass. Grasped Bela's outstretched arm to get out himself. And then they both stared down for a little while, considering.

"And empty coffin makes you happy because…?" She turned and looked expectedly at him.

"Because it first of all means that this dude's body is still somewhere in the house," Dean replied with a great deal of mock-patience, "That would explain the haunting." He chuckled. "At least we know now why the spirit's friggin' attached to the place. But then, who the hell cares, right? We've gotta find the body now and finally put an end to the haunting before someone else got killed." And he beamed at her.

And it was his damn excitement over yet another thing that was not going to save him that made anger rise inside of Bela, and it suddenly was so strong that she started seeing red. Made her wish to start screaming.

"Do you think Sam will be okay with all of this on his own?" She asked instead, unexpectedly and somewhat matter-of-factly, and God help her but she was a step away from beating Dean with that stupid shovel of his. "Because all this researching and digging and killing the monsters… It is going to keep him quite busy."

He froze still looking down and Bela could have sworn that he caught his breath too, the way she caught hers when the question slipped out of her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that his jaw twitched, imagined him clenching his teeth tight, and his hands must have balled into fists but she couldn't make herself look at him to check it out. And maybe she was cruel – and she knew that she was, and maybe somewhere deep inside she wanted to hurt him the way his attitude hurt her – but it was right about time for him to start taking the things seriously. She wondered somewhat indifferently if the idea of beating _her_ with the shovel crossed Dean's mind.

But Dean regained his composure surprisingly quickly and when he spoke again his voice was steady and confident. "He's a big boy, Bela. I'm sure he'll do just fine." Yet he avoided looking at her and it made Bela grit her teeth angrily. And then he shrugged, like the whole thing wasn't a big deal, and this simple gesture threw her over the edge.

"Are you even planning to stop being so damn selfish, Dean?"

He spluttered for a moment, surprised.

"Selfish??" Head whipped around, and he stared at her, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing as if he couldn't find the words to say. Couldn't even process her question in his mind. "What's so selfish in—?"

"Oh, spare me _I saved my brother and I'm trying to save the world_ crap!" She cut him no longer in control of her temper. "Yes, you did a good thing, and now you all but gave up even trying to save yourself, and what could be more miserable?" Threw her hands helplessly into the air. "Your brother out there is probably busting his ass to try and find a way to keep you alive." With a strong emphasis on _probably_, as though she didn't know for sure. "And Bobby must be beyond himself because… Oh, don't look at me like that, Dean! I know that you all are one big happy family. And me…" Bela stopped abruptly when it occurred to her that she had probably gone too far. "But all you do is run away moaning about your ill fate all along. _Everyone dies_," she mimicked him in high-pitched voice and her accent only made it sound worse. "If you think that this is all you can do, you're wrong."

"I do not moan!" Dean snapped.

"You do nothing! Might as well find a good place and start digging your own grave. You know, to save everyone a whole lot of trouble. Isn't it what you like doing most? Trying to please everyone." O-okay, a bit harsh, but at this point she simply couldn't stop herself.

They regarded each other furiously, fire flaring in their eyes.

"Well, what am I supposed to do, Bela?" He bellowed at last, with fury and strange hopelessness ringing in his voice. "One wrong move and they'll kill Sam."

"Oh, and if you die they're going to just leave him alone," she rolled her eyes. "Please! You can't be so stupid to actually believe that!" And as soon as she said that she knew she hit the nail right on the head. "But you know that, right? You know how much they want him. You know that they'll use the first chance they have to get him." Bela paused, eyes never leaving his face. "And your soul even won't be around to be sold for the second time. Now tell me where is _not_ selfish in that?"

He watched her in silence for a moment too long, his face twisted with pain. His worst fears and concerns being voiced, each like a punch leaving a bruise in his soul.

Perhaps, Sam, or Bobby, or whoever, tried to _convince_ him not to give up, or to beg him, or to persuade. Perhaps, she was the first who threw these cruel words right in his face not even trying to soften them, and Bela was sick and tired of tiptoeing around the whole deal thing out of wish to make Dean comfortable about his death.

Dean swallowed visibly and it was impossible to miss that his green eyes darkened by the second. He'd taken his jacket off before starting to dig and hung it mindlessly onto one of the crosses. A rush of cold wind rose gooseflesh on his arms but he didn't seem to notice. Bela shivered.

"You don't understand…"

"How could I?" With a great deal of sarcasm.

"Why are you even here, Bela?"

"You dragged me here," she grimaced.

"No, I mean – _why_? Why are you even thinking about any of this?" Bitterly, in the lowest voice ever. "Why do you even care about what's going to happen with my bother?"

Short laughter that escaped Bela's lips was humorless and bitter, too. "Yeah, right. I'm thinking about Sam's well-being." She shook her head. "You really are dense, Dean." He blinked dumbly, and all of a sudden her anger was gone, and her view was clear again, no bright spots dancing before her eyes anymore, replaced by some endless tiredness inside. "How can anyone help you if you keep fighting against it?"

"Who says I need any damned help? I'm doing friggin' great!"

"Oh, sure!"

"You know what? All my life, whatever I was doing, it was never enough for my father. It was never enough for Sam, and I didn't even know what exactly they wanted from me! And now, hell, it's not enough for you," his short laugh was bitter and almost painful, tone unbelieving. "What is wrong with you all? Why wouldn't everyone just friggin' leave me alone and let me do what I want?"

"Fine!" Bela hissed through clenched teeth angry at them both for letting it go this far. "You're about to get what you ask for."

She turned on her heels and stomped across the graveyard towards the exit, or the entrance, whatever, before she actually hit him, this dumb thick-headed moron. Or before she said something else. Or before she started crying again, out of helplessness, out of loneliness, out of loss.

"Oh, shit!" Dean cursed under his breath. Ran his fingers through his hair watching her walk away. "Bela," he called, almost pleading.

She stopped in her tracks but did not turn back. Felt his eyes on her, his gaze almost as tangible as a touch, but couldn't make herself look at him, all not so determined at once.

"Please," his voice, so low and yet so strangely loud, turned everything inside of her. Made Bela feel dizzy even.

It hurt like hell and she knew that she was acting like a petulant child because this fight was plain stupid but the thought of staying around and watching him getting ready for his own death – maybe writing a will even, she wouldn't put it past him assuming he had his car and a collection of cassette tapes with the music that no normal person could stand listening for longer than one minute to leave behind – was beyond her abilities. Bela wondered with rueful amusement if Dean was going to will Sam to someone, like find another big brother for him, and the thought nearly caused her to giggle hysterically. Honestly, she wouldn't put _that_ past him either. He would probably make fun of it too, just to piss everyone off, Sam most of all. It squeezed her heart.

Bela shook her head then. "Enjoy yourself, Dean. See you around." _Maybe_. And she left without looking back.

***

When Dean came back to the motel a couple of hours later, after he brought Gregory Charleston's grave into its normal state, Bela was gone. He half expected – or hoped madly to be exact – to find her there, fuming, utterly pissed off and bitching about their fight, blaming it all on him. 'Course she's do that. Not that it could've happened any other way, with Bela being Bela and everything, and even thinking about it felt good. Even replaying their possible conversation in his mind – her shots and his wisecracks – was okay. Everything was fine until he opened the damned door.

He paused in the doorway for a moment somewhat deafened be eerie silence. Scanned the room and noticed that small bag with Bela toiletries that he knew she left on the table in the morning was missing. Of course.

Dean closed the door carefully behind himself, came up to the bed and slumped backwards onto the comforter, his sore muscles protesting against the movement and yet accepting his new relaxed state eagerly. The scent of her still lingering in the air – something flowery sweet like probably her perfume or shampoo and also something that was purely Bela –was like a torture.

He let out a heavy sigh and stared sightlessly at the ceiling above him feeling completely drained and empty all of a sudden, and so alone that it made him wish to groan, or scream, or start climbing walls. Mental images floating before his mind's eye that were way beyond his control were making it no better than that smell of hers. Dean groped for his cell phone, hoping again, but saw only two missed calls from Sam, and it was strange that he didn't hear him calling, but then he wasn't really paying attention to anything. He found Bela's number but his finger hesitated on the dial button. It would be stupid to call her, he told himself. He would look like a fool if he called her after he made it clear that he didn't want her or anyone else around.

Maybe except for… Dean scrolled the quick dial list until he saw Sam's number but instead of calling his brother he tossed the phone aside and rubbed tiredly at his face.

Chuckled to himself. What a tease! Ever since their first encounter over the damned rabbit's foot he kept telling Bela to get out and stay away, sometimes even meaning it for real, and yet she didn't seem to care less getting in his way and screwing everything up as much as she only could. But the only time he asked her to _please_ stay, she'd left.

***

The buzz of her mobile phone gave Bela a start. Made her practically jump on her seat, and it was a miracle that she didn't swerve onto the wrong side of the road. Good thing was that there were no cars moving in her direction.

_Anonymous_, she read on the display and her heart skipped a beat and started thudding oddly against her ribs.

Dean? Could be. Theoretically speaking. She wished it was him. Wished him to be mad. Wished they had another fight because she wasn't the one who lacked the words. Anything, just to hear the sound of his voice. To know that he... well, noticed that she was gone. It would mean that he sort of cared; that he was fine. Pissed off but fine nonetheless. And, okay, if he asked her to come back, she probably would. Maybe. She'd blame him entirely for every single fault, of course. Except for… why would he call her after he anything but told her to get out in that charming manner of his?

She swallowed uneasily, her heart beating so fast now that she was seeing spots, and pushed the accept button.

"_Hey, Bela_," before she even said a word.

Sam. Not Dean. Of course. A mixture of relief and disappointment swept over her, but then again if it was Dean she wouldn't know what to say.

As for Sam, he sounded strangely… _hopeful_, and she cringed inwardly when it came to her that the tone of his voice implied something, like that he was expecting news from her. Something like – _hey, Sam, I found a way to save your brother. It is free and painless and will take half a minute at most and Dean won't even notice anything. You can even save the news and make it a Christmas present_.

"Hi, Sam!" She greeted him cheerfully, or so she hoped. Smiled even. She knew he couldn't see it but it sort of helped to keep her own voice light and carefree. Pretending yet again. And ruined all his possible expectations simply by asking, "How are you? Any news?" with a subtext screaming _I haven't got any_.

He sighed – or exhaled loudly, more like it – and Bela practically saw him slumping back into the chair and running his long fingers through his shaggy hair, as if he actually expected to hear anything reassuring from her. As if she wouldn't have called him if she actually found something. Suddenly, Bela felt sorry. Terribly sorry. And also somewhat tired of always delivering bad news. Or no news at all, which sometimes was even worse.

"_Well, no_," he admitted rather unwillingly in the end, ashamed and frustrated, she heard that. "_I've got one idea, but you know…_" He trailed off. Yes, she knew. Another big _nothing_. But at least he was trying, never giving up. She didn't know Sam well enough to judge or make conclusions, but his determination was something that she definitely respected. "_Um, Ruby's helping_," he added somewhat cautiously, unsure if it was a good idea to share such kind of information with her. Demon trying to help Dean out. It would have been amusing, in any other situation. "_And Bobby's working on some theory._" Hopeful yet again.

"Oh, I see you have the whole team organized," she snorted but to her own surprise it sounded more rueful than amused because for some reason it was even more sad than if Sam was there all alone.

Sam made some noise which Bela failed to define and then cleared his throat, perhaps not really sure if her comment was of a mocking kind, or so it seemed to her. But maybe he wasn't thinking about it at all. "_Hm, yeah. Listen, why I call… I couldn't reach Dean. Is he there?_"

"Not anymore, I'm afraid," she said lightly as if she wasn't sorry at all. Not a single bit, and wondered to herself why the hell Dean bloody Winchester wasn't picking up his bloody phone in the first place.

"_Why? What happened?_"

"It somehow turned out that we can't stand each other's company for too long, see. So, we decided to part."

He must have blinked here, confused. She could see it pretty clearly in her head. And then he probably frowned, too. It wasn't all that hard to see that either, with Sam Winchester being so predictable it wasn't even interesting.

"_Where are you, Bela?_"

"Going home, finally." On a feigned sigh of relief.

"_And… Dean?_" Cautiously, suspecting the worst perhaps.

"Last time I saw him he was at the cemetery. That was where I left him."

Sam kept the pause before speaking again. "_But he was… alive when you left him there? Tell me he's still alive._"

She almost laughed at his panic. "Why, Sam! I'm offended, really," she drawled. "Do you think I would so must as lift my finger to do something for Dean if I was seriously planning to finish him myself? Ridiculous. I wouldn't waste my time."

There was some noise on Sam's end of the call that Bela failed to identify. Again. As if he dropped something to the floor, or wanted to lower himself onto the chair and missed. Or maybe he just hit the wall, or kicked something.

"_I talked to Missouri_," he said then.

Bela clenched her teeth wishing she had both of her hands on the steering wheel and fighting this heavy feeling in her stomach that was making her sick, blood pumping so loudly in her ears that Sam's voice sounded pretty muffled. Remembered her own conversation with Missouri and the things that psychic woman knew about her, and swallowed uneasily. Would she dare to say a word to Sam? Bela doubted Missouri would do something like that out of wish to give away her little secrets. But to sooth Sam? To calm him down? To make him trust her enough to help Dean? She didn't know.

"So? I doubt she knows anything that I don't." Her voice was nonchalant when she spoke though.

"_She seems to trust you_."

"But you don't," Bela ended his phrase. Knew she was right; could hear it in his voice. And why would Sam trust her? She shot him when he was most vulnerable because it was the only way to get the rabbit's foot from Dean. Conned them both, lied. Thank God, he stopped reminding her of that all the time the way he used to. But then he needed her, in a way, so it was probably the reason. "Your brother is a moron, Sam. A blind moron, I must say. But I'm not saying that I'm quitting only because he's a pain in the ass," she said quietly.

"_Why are you even trying in the first place, Bela?_"

She paused, took her time to compose herself. And why everyone would ask her that, she thought with frustration. "Just like you said before. Who knows? Having Dean Winchester owe me for something could be fun."

Sam chuckled and Bela wondered if he took her seriously, and then he hung up. Apparently, saying goodbye wasn't anywhere in his plans for today.

***

His cell phone came to life as soon as Sam flipped it close. _Bela_, was his first thought and he smirked to himself. Who would have ever thought? His brother and Bela Talbot. Okay, he got it from the start that she'd probably got a kink on him – see her joke with the Impala prove it. Why else would she mess with Dean's only true love? He nearly had a heart attack back then. Only Sam couldn't have imagined that it was mutual. _Immoral con-artist bitch_, that was what he called her, right? That was almost funny. No, wait! It was hilarious! His one in a lifetime chance to make the rest of Dean's life – and Sam strongly believed that they both had several decades ahead – pretty much unbearable, to say the least.

"Bel…" he started into the receiver.

But the caller spoke at the same time. "_Hey there, Sammy_."

"Dean!" Relieved, Sam let his lips stretch into a wide smile, and thanked God that Dean interrupted him before he spoke out Bela's name. "Hi!" Cleared his throat. "What's up, man?"

"_Um, missed your calls, sorry_." He paused. Tying to come up with a good excuse, Sam thought, amused. "_Music was too loud_." Not so bad, "_Listen… What's there with our guy?_"

"He doesn't have a new girlfriend yet, if that's what you're asking."

"_Oh, great. Look, I know that we need to keep an eye on him unless we want another person missing and this freak escaping yet again, but I could sorta use your help here_." It was Dean's turn to clear his throat. "_And then we're right back to that case_," he added quickly.

"What? Casper's being a trouble?" Sam snorted, out of habit more than anything.

"_Ha-ha, geek boy. Are you coming?_"

"Sure. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

Sam looked around the motel room trying to recall if there were late buses to Montana leaving from the nearest station. Should be. Spotted his notebook on the table, turned on, with the text of yet another protection spell on the screen, and piles of paper scattered all over the place, and sighed mentally. Bobby was going to call and inform him on how far he moved in his research although Sam wasn't really hopeful about this particular call. His eyes moved to the door and stayed there, his latest conversation with Ruby that took place not more than an hour ago replaying in his mind again.

He shook his head, frustrated. Bobby was okay, sure. His motives were clear. No one could ever say the same about Bela and Ruby, especially about Ruby. No matter how many times he asked, she never said why exactly a demon would want to save a hunter. All Sam could hope for was that whatever plans she had in her mind, they weren't too troublesome to deal with in the end, in case it turned out that they were not so innocent. He wanted to trust her – the way a drowning man wants to trust to a life-guard with a buoy – but couldn't bring himself to giving in to blind faith.

The same could be said about Bela, too, of course but at least she was Dean's headache, not his. He didn't tell her what exactly he heard from Missouri when he asked if there was a way to save him at all. "There should be something in your brother's life that is stronger than his wish to pay a debt to your father, Sam," which seemed weird and left Sam wondering until he talked to Bela. Well, if it was going to work, he didn't really mind… Not that anyone asked for his opinion anyway. Except that… Seriously? Bela?

"_Good_," Dean's voice broke the train of his thought. And then he added cheerfully, "_You'll like it here!_" Whatever there was to like about haunted house, Sam hemmed to himself. "_And speaking of Casper, don't forget to grab a helmet. And a bullet-proof vest… Um, two_."

***

Bela Talbot had only one clear memory of her parents – aside from the one where they were lying in the crimson pool of blood on the hardwood floor in the library. Her mother's birthday when she was six. Sunny day full of small joys, laughter and happiness. The only memory stored deep in her mind, in the farthest corner. The one that was retrieved once in a while only to be pushed even farther back because every single time she saw her mother's smiling face before her mind's eye it inevitably turned into this after-death stone mask with unnaturally big eyes staring out the window at the low gray sky, somewhat wondering, as though she didn't get what had happened.

But even that most horrible of all images was then swept away by something red and thick and sticky filling her head, and Bela had to clench her eyes shut tight to force it out of her mind, always left with sickening feeling in the end.

That was it. The story of her life. One loss after another.

But still, it was somehow easier to think about her parents' death than about all those happy times they had together. Oddly, it hurt less. Remembering them as _bodies_, not _people,_ and thinking about their death as _case_, not _loss_, dulled the pain. She refused to keep any pictures of them because she couldn't stand seeing their happy smiling faces on the lifeless pieces of paper. At some point Bela figured that she'd probably go crazy if she kept thinking about what her life could have been if… So many _ifs_.

She didn't know what to do. She was a mess, miserable, destroyed and broken, feeling empty and pretty much dead, like a doll – a piece of plastic with no feelings inside.

Absently, she wondered how it would feel in three and a half months. _After_. How it would feel to think about him? Would it hurt badly or just hurt? Would she think about him at all? Okay, silly question. Better put it this way – would she ever stop thinking about him?

"Dean Winchester is going to hell," she said into the air feeling the pain growing stronger, somewhat relieved to find out that she still was able to feel.

Another battle lost because no matter how hard she tried she couldn't _make_ him fight. It was a good idea to stay away, she told herself. Better than sticking around and watching him die. Bela didn't want to remember another after-death mask of someone else she… _cared_ about. And yet…

It wasn't making any sense. None of it was making any sense.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Thanks for reading :)) Comments are always love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note**: I know it's been a while. I'm sorry for the delay. Thanks for the reviews everyone :)) Hope you'll like this chap. It's a bit intense but I enjoyed every single moment of writing it.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Bela had an amulet to sell and it was what occupied her for almost a week – a trip to meet the buyer, arrangement of the process itself, a trip back home. It kept her busy, kept her mind working in the right direction. Something safe and familiar. But she never forgot. Not even for one moment. She put the word out. She never stopped asking, always ready to do whatever it was necessary – always ready to pay whatever her informers might ask – even if it was only a half-lead with no guarantees in the end. She was lying awake during most nights thinking, trying to remember if she ever heard anything that she hadn't paid attention to, knowing that sometimes the smallest details could be what really mattered.

Something was not right. Something that Bela couldn't quite put her finger on. She was brooding about it for days trying to recall every single thing she came across lately that could have made her feel like that. Every thing she did, every thing she said, and none of it made any sense until it came to her that it was probably Missouri who caused her somewhat uneasy state.

Missouri called her several days ago – right after Bela got her cheque for the amulet and was planning her way back home – and asked if she had any news; ahs also said that she had a talk with Sam, which Bela had already knew. But something was wrong about this phone call, and all of a sudden it seemed so obvious that Bela wondered how she didn't come to it earlier. Missouri didn't say anything specific since she too had no news but the way she was asking the questions – the wording maybe – was what got stuck in Bela's mind like a thorn but at that moment Bela herself wasn't quite in conversational mood, too disappointed and distracted, so it somehow slipped her attention. She needed to give it some serious thinking, and maybe try to talk to Missouri again…

She turned the key and pushed the door open fully intended to call Missouri right away and do whatever she could to find out what exactly she wasn't saying.

Home. Finally. She took her jacket off and hung it onto the stand in the hall. Made her way down the corridor and reached for the security panel to enter four-digit code…

And it was already off.

Bela froze. She knew she turned it on before leaving earlier today; remembered the moment of turning the security alarm on with frightening accuracy, like in a slow motion replay. Unless she's gone crazy and lost her mind, and she knew that she surely didn't. And then there was a shadow in the living room. It slid across the wall and disappeared, presumably in the kitchen.

Her eyes narrowed; Bela opened her purse and reached into it for the gun. Felt so much safer once her fingers closed around cold steel and pulled it out slowly. Made sure that she didn't lock the front door – just in case she'd need to scram quickly; left her purse handing on the door knob and moved forward cautiously all alert and trying to step on her toes only hence her heels warn whoever was there about her approach. Where was the element of surprise in that?

Her heart was hammering like crazy in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her veins, but there was dark determination inside of her as well. Whoever was foolish enough to trespass her property was about to seriously regret it.

Bela moved closer to the wall so that her body wasn't casting any shadows to give her away and took a deep breath before rushing around the corner, gun cocked up and her finger on the trigger, ready to pull it.

And froze yet again, out of shock this time.

Her beloved cat was sitting on top of the marble counter at her kitchen island, his favorite spot for observing the street. Dean Winchester was standing nearby leaning against the aforementioned counter, his fingers fondly scratching Bela's pet on the neck.

Both of them turned their heads and two pairs of eyes – yellow and green – stared at her, more curiously than with surprise.

Not seeing the gun in her hand, apparently, Dean gave Bela a long once-over, lingered his gaze on her face for a moment too long, and smirked.

"Cute," he commented. "And very hospitable."

Bela lowered her gun. Fought to keep her best bitchy face and made a lousy attempt to ignore the pounding of her heart that picked up by the second, having nothing to do with adrenaline and feeling of danger now. Frowned to make her attitude more obvious lest he misinterpreted it. And tried not to think, like – at all! The element of surprise turned against her.

"What are you doing here, Dean?" Without so much as _Hello_. "Going around my security system got a little bit old, don't you think? Might've as well waited outside for a change."

"I wanted," he nodded eagerly. "But this guy from upstairs that looked like a banker on retirement came down to check on me _twice_. Like I was some friggin' burglar, can you honestly believe that? I had to get out before he called the police or something."

Bela hemmed. "Just to make it clear. You know that you got _in_ instead of _out_, right?" And cocked her head.

"You say it like you're not happy to see me!" He scoffed attempting to joke.

Bela arched her eyebrow. "Whatever. I got the general idea. Still, you never told me why you came." Voice flat and dry.

Dean looked away then becoming somewhat uncomfortable all at once. Cleared his throat. Gave Bela a chance to take a proper look at him and wonder if he'd slept an hour since the last time she saw him; and her heart jumped at the thought that the last time she saw him wasn't _the_ last time.

He reached into his pocket then and pulled something out. "You forgot it on the nightstand," he said in a low and oddly apologetic voice still avoiding her gaze and Bela saw her small pearl pendant on a plain golden chain in his hand. Dean let it stream down and create a pool of gold on the counter. "I thought you might want to have it back."

Bela blinked, confused. She didn't even notice it was missing. Actually, half of the world could go missing and she most likely wouldn't give a damn.

"Oh… Thank you." Disappointment swept over her, followed by a small evil voice in her head asking what the hell she was expecting in the first place. That he'd come because he… missed her? Oh, please! Why would he come without a reason?

She didn't know what else to say, everything that came to her mind felt wrong, so she said nothing choosing to simply wait till he was gone or… something.

Dean cleared his throat again looking a bit edgy. Tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but then pulled them out almost instantly as if he didn't know what to do with them now that he passed her property over to her. Looked around her place.

She looked hurt, he thought, and it made him cringe inwardly. The very first moment when their eyes met and before she had time to put on her stone-cold mask, for the shortest of moments, she looked hurt when she saw him. Something flashed across her face. Something that made him hate himself. _Should've sent the damned thing by mail, or left it in the postbox with some sweet goodbye note_, he thought wincing to himself. Except that he wouldn't see her if he did so. But then maybe it was better.

And, truth be told, he had no reason to stay here any longer, especially with Bela so close, and tension almost tangible in the air. She wasn't even looking at him. Dean felt his cheeks flush when it suddenly occurred to him that from her point of view it might have looked like he used her jewelry as an excuse… which wasn't that far from the truth but still…

He didn't let himself finish the thought. Took a deep breath as if walking out the door was something that required any special efforts.

"I was thinking about what you've said," Dean said all of a sudden without moving an inch, eyes down and studying the texture of the marble counter. He smirked bitterly and shook his head. "You were right, Bela. It was selfish." Sighed then, and looked up to finally meet her gaze. "I couldn't live knowing that my father sold his soul for me. It was eating me from inside because it was a wrong course of things."

Bela pursed her lips tight so as not to let her comment slip out, scared of spooking him into… leaving.

"I didn't think for a second when I was given a chance to save Sam and I would've done exactly the same thing if I had to live that day again." He looked away and out the window then, and Bela let out her breath that she didn't even realize she was holding. "What if it was Dad who was meant to stay alive, not me? I guess he coulda taken better care of Sam than me. He would've never let Sam die in the first place, see." Dean trailed off. "It kills me to think that I'm failing yet again because you're damn right here, too. Friggin' sons of bitches want my brother bad and I know that he will never just let it go. He'll do something and they'll come for him. It's like whatever choice I make it's never the right one." At least he was angry, Bela noted. Better than desperate. "Yet, I don't want to make things worse. I don't want to give those fucking bastards a chance to cancel my bloody deal and take him just like that because I promised to take care of him. The stakes are too high." Dean paused as if he chocked on the words he was going to say. Looked down at his hands first, then at the picture of the wall, and then finally at Bela. "But I don't want to die." In a low voice.

He held her gaze for a long moment and glanced away when she didn't say anything.

Slowly, Bela came up to him.

"Big fat coward, huh?" Dean chuckled, and it came out in a whoosh of breath. There was no need to turn around to know that she was standing right there behind his back.

She hesitated for the barest of moments before her fingers brushed lightly against his skin. Grabbed his hand with both of hers and cuddled her face into his arm breathing in his smell, taking in the warmth of his body. "No," she breathed out.

"I'm not scared of death," Dean went on as if he didn't hear. Or maybe he really didn't, too lost in his thoughts, she guessed. "Or of hell. But I don't want to stop existing. I don't want to lose everything I was. Everything I am."

The way he said it – and she heard obvious panic between the lines – was heartbreaking, unbearable.

"We'll find something," she whispered. "I promise we'll think something out."

"There is nothing." He paused. "But you know it, right?"

Bela bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "Must be," she said stubbornly.

"I'm sorry, Bela. I didn't think it would turn that way…"

"Shut up." She looked up; his face was not more than a couple of inches away from hers. Saw uncertainty in his eyes and something resembling fear although she couldn't say if it was fear of his fate or if he was scared to start hoping. "Shut up, Dean," she repeated and pressed her lips to his. "Because if… you say one… more… word I'll make… hell… the least of your… problems," punctuating her words with small kisses. Felt him smile and fought to cope with her uneven breath.

"You're one messed up chick, you know that?"

"Last person who told me that ended up with a bullet in his shoulder," Bela warned him.

"Bad for him."

Dean rested his forehead against hers realizing somewhat belatedly and with a great deal of surprise that he missed her badly, a lot more than he first thought. Missed even that accent of hers that he once thought was awful and setting his teeth on edge because he couldn't get half of what she was saying, those smart Brit words. Missed the feel of her, and the way she was making him feel, and all of a sudden it was something that mattered more than anything.

It hurt like hell to think that they had so little time left – and practical realist in him knew that he was right about that. It hurt even more to think that he would hold her back from what she could have. But the more he thought about it, the more obvious it was getting that he couldn't just turn away and leave. He wanted her back, no matter what. He wanted to live.

"One more thing you were damn right about. I'm tired like hell of running away. The problem is that I don't know what else to do."

"For starters, stop pushing away everyone who cares enough to even bother, Dean."

He thought about her half-request half-order for a moment, and then nodded quickly knowing that it was yet another promise that he wasn't sure he could keep. But he was going to give it a try because—

"It shouldn't have ended like this… for us. For everyone." His fingers traced feather-light up her cheek and ended up tangled in her hair.

"And where does this pessimism come from?" Bela smirked. "Nothing is over yet. Can you trust me on this? Just for once, stop fighting and let me help you. Let me at least try. Please."

His lips found hers once again, and he was kissing her slowly, tracing the outline of her mouth, stealing her breath and leaving her head spinning. She had to cling to him if only to make sure she wouldn't collapse if her knees suddenly gave in. Her skin was burning wherever it came in contact with his and Bela sighed with protest and disappointment when he suddenly pulled away. Opened her eyes and saw him peering at her a tad curiously and with what she'd call confusion.

"Thanks, Bela."

"For what?" It was hard to think straight. Oh, hell, it was hard to think in general. And what they were talking about anyway?

"For not giving up on me." He didn't seem really comfortable with the words but the fact that he said them made Bela smile. "For not wanting me to die. It's… dunno. Nice, I guess." And then, to bring the conversation to a more familiar territory, or to ruin the moment, Bela wasn't sure. "Um… do you have something to eat?"

***

She lost track of the days because she didn't want to count them.

She lost track of how many times he'd been slipping out in the cover of darkness without so much as a farewell kiss and coming back again when she least expected, somewhat shamefaced and yet hopeful that she wouldn't ask him to get out.

But she remembered the first time she caught them both laughing together, freely and completely at ease. It felt and sounded so natural, so right. She couldn't say what was the reason of their joy back then, but she remembered his excited face and his sparkling eyes, and the creases in the corners of his eyes formed by his smile were something that she thought she saw for the first time ever since they met. The image carved into her mind forever.

Bela never knew when he would show up again – and if he would at all, with both of them bouncing on the razor's edge – and that's why each time was like the last time. And so she kept doing her best to memorize every single moment…

One day she got back home, soaked from a half a minute run from the parking lot to the entrance of the apartment building and shivering from head to toe, her teeth chattering unevenly. She knew he was there right away, heard him moving around the kitchen the moment she opened the door – and he was the one who dared to pop into her place just like that and be so bold; and her whole apartment was filled with the smell of fresh coffee.

He tucked her ice-cold hands in his hot palms that felt almost burning to her skin and then pulled her into the circle of his arms holding her tight until she stopped shaking. His hands were stroking her back while he was telling her about his daily routine, to fill the silence more than anything. Bela could not recall a word of what he was saying then – wasn't really listening to the words, maybe only to the sound of his voice – but it was the feeling of warmth and safety that she had never felt before and that made her throat clog and that, she knew, she would remember for the rest of her life…

They were watching some stupid movie once – Dean's choice, and she didn't even try to follow the storyline – staying late at night. She'd fallen asleep right there on the couch in her living room, with her head on his shoulder, to the sounds of the conversation that made no sense to her. The next thing Bela knew when she woke up was that she could hear the beating of his heart right at her very ear as Dean was carrying her upstairs in his arms. His only reaction to her weak protest – "I can do it on my own, thank you" – was a graze of his lips against her forehead and a whispered request to shut up. It felt like a dream. And she thought absently back then that if it was, then she didn't want it to end…

She was waiting for a phone call sitting on a tall stool at her kitchen island with Dean right in front of her, their hands clasped together and lying between them on the marble countertop. Her business was still there although they never talked much neither about it, nor about Dean's hunting trips preferring to stick to silent agreement on ignorance, which in their case seemed to be the best idea. Absently, Bela twisted the band of a silver ring around his finger fascinated by how the metal remained cool even against the heat of his skin.

"Bela?" His voice was hoarse when he called her as if his mouth suddenly was dry and each sound was coming out with considerable effort.

"Mm?" She looked up and into his eyes, and then at his jaw-line and caught herself on a thought that she wanted to touch it, to check if it was as hard as it looked. Traced the ring with her fingertip once again, distracted.

The pause was long this time as though he forgot what he wanted to say. Or changed his mind. After half a minute or so Bela started to believe in the later but then he spoke again and it felt like he dropped a bomb that exploded in her head.

"It's not a big thing… I just… Will you…" He cleared his throat. Took a deep breath making her wonder about the reason for his uneasiness. Bela couldn't remember the last time he looked so uncomfortable looking for the words to say. "In case this thing doesn't work… Will you miss me?" _It's just that I have to know_.

The question caused a small smile on her lips at first – nearly made her made a crack about Dean Winchester getting sentimental – but then the meaning kicked in and a burning lump in her throat rendered Bela speechless. The moment that she took to swallow it might have looked like she was considering, or hesitating. She wondered what it looked like to him. Her vision blurred momentarily and Bela blinked quickly several times to clear it, thoughts about seemingly important phone call swept out of her mind for good.

"Yes," Bela forced out hurriedly in a strained voice as soon as she was able to speak again; not even in a whisper, much lower than that. Dropped her eyes and concentrated on the knot of their fingers.

Dean sighed, with relief or regret he couldn't say. A bit of both probably.

Honestly, he'd rather she turned it into a joke and said _No_ and something else, like that she was still in her right mind and who in their right mind would miss pain in the ass? Moreover, he'd rather he shut up instead of asking anything at all.

Who would ever have thought that the things could turn that way?

He wondered once if Bela even realized how much she was giving him without asking for anything in return. Much more than he could have asked or hoped for. Aside from times when she was a pain in the ass, which she was nearly always, and he, according to her words, was intolerable dolt, of course. Some kind of balance, a lifeline to hold on to whenever he thought he was giving in and losing himself.

She and Sam, with the only difference that he had to be strong around Sam, had to be a big brother. Had to always be there for him for as long as he could. Had to make sure that Sam stopped blaming himself for what Dean did, even when it mean to irritate hell out of his little brother to make it work, which wasn't a big deal with Sam.

As for Bela, he could be himself with her, the way she could be herself with him. No thinking. No looking back. No trying to prove something to each other. Not – _let me cry on your shoulder and then you can give me soothing hug_ – shit that he teased Sam so much about but she somehow managed to sooth him even by sticking around, and yes, mostly annoying him. And this annoyance was making him feel warm all over and… so alive, desperately wishing for more of her than she was willing to give; more than he knew he would have ever gotten even in a hundred years of existence.

It felt nice even when she won twenty bucks from him in poker, meaning he lost not only his twenty that he had won in another poker game earlier that week but also two thousands that she staked for her part. "To make it a challenge at least," was what she said. And he gave her that perfect opportunity, like a once-in-a-lifetime chance, to make fun of his mock-hurt expression afterwards. Told her not to be too optimistic and added something about gaining revenge next time, causing her to burst out laughing, and it all suddenly was so dumb that he ended up smiling, too.

One night Bela woke up crying, shaking all over, with her heart beating like a drum and uncontrolled tears rolling down her cheeks. She refused to say a word, only wrapped her arms around him and held on to him as tight as she could, making Dean wonder if his guesses about the nature of her bad dreams were correct. She was having them often. His seemingly soothing whisper did no good to calm her down one way or another. He never had right words to say – never had them naturally in such situations – but he knew a better way to make her forget about absolutely everything in the whole world but the two of them sweeping every single thought out of her mind. The only way to say the things he couldn't bring himself to say with the words.

***

Dean Winchester, let it be said, knew everything about tasty food, which was not a big surprise, and Bela knew it after all the times she had a pleasure to witness his savage consuming talents. The unexpected thing was that he turned out to know how to cook some things, too, especially when he had access to almost unlimited amount of products, meaning her stuffed fridge. That was something that Bela couldn't even dare to imagine but then she thought that it probably was a result of all these years when he had to survive all on his own and also take care of his baby brother during their early years with their father missing most of time.

Standing at the counter, Bela leaned forward onto her elbows feeling its cool surface through her top and propped her chin in her hand as she watched him moving around the kitchen, from the fridge to the oven and back to the fridge while he was fixing a breakfast for the two of them, with undisclosed interest. Morning newspaper was lying open before her but she hardly moved past big words on the front page, too distracted.

Dean was whistling something under his breath and giving her winks and cunning smiles every now and then not at all uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Not at all uncomfortable generally, given that it wasn't exactly the most ordinary situation for any of them.

"Awesome, huh? Memorize the moment, Bela," he told her grinning and beaming like a thousand watt light bulb. "Chef's at his best!"

Eggs, she saw from her position, and the bacon were sizzling on the frying pan. He put a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster and went to fetch some cheese and tomatoes. Bela debated offering him some help with something, like coffee maybe, but before she had time to voice it her phone rang interrupting the train of her thought.

Unwillingly, Bela pushed herself off of the counter to pick up the receiver that was lying on the coffee table in the living room. Caught Dean's curious glance out of the corner of her eye and suppressed a small smile. Checked the clock automatically and wondered who on Earth would call her at this time of the day.

"_Bela?_" She heard as soon as she said her _Hello_. Missouri. "_Excuse me for calling so early. Do you have a minute?_"

"Sure." Her heart skipped a beat and started its wild race in her chest, yet she managed to keep her voice calm. Said _Business_ with her lips only in response to Dean's questioning look. He made a face to show his attitude and lost interest in the conversation completely being back to his so exciting occupation. "Um… It's nice to hear you. Everything okay?"

"_Oh, I hope so, honey. Maybe it is nothing special_." A pause. "_Maybe it is nothing at all and I'm not even sure it has anything to do with Dean generally…_" Missouri's voice was worried though, despite of all her _maybe's_ and _nothing's_.

Puzzled, Bela came up to the window and stared outside at the city that had only started to wake up. Too few cars, she noticed absently knowing that it was a matter of about a half of an hour before they'd flood the streets. Even the sun wasn't up completely yet. Its first rays turning the sky from dark blue to somewhat purplish.

"What is it?" She asked and bit her bottom lip.

"_I had a vision_," Missouri sounded uncertain as if this spur of a moment decision to call stopped looking like a good idea all of a sudden. Bela caught her breath all the same. "_There was fire. Not hellfire,_" Missouri added quickly when it came to her how it must have been sounding to Bela. "_Just fire. But there was some feeling of… _finality_. Can't find a better word. Not desperation but… but like there was no way back. And…_" She paused as if to analyze her vision or whatever it was once again. Bela started counting her heartbeats to keep herself from impatient scream. "_I haven't seen Dean exactly, and truthfully I haven't seen much at all. But I was thinking about the boy lately, so I thought that it might have something to do with him. But then maybe it was something else_." Another pause made Bela grit her teeth and take a couple of deep breaths. "_I'm sorry for bothering you but I felt that it was something that you should know_."

She sounded apologetic and Bela felt guilty for her annoyance and irritation by the second. Missouri really cared and wanted to help. She knew that. And she also knew that the psychic woman was probably having all sorts of visions all the time. Chances were that fire was related to something else. A feeling a relief swept over Bela when she realized that this stupid vision was probably the reason of Missouri's earlier anxiety. At least it wasn't anything big and bad. And anything that wasn't bad was… well, good.

"Oh," she cleared her throat fighting to find the words to say. Probably, something reassuring would work best. "Thanks." Darted a quick look at Dean who was standing with his back to her and even if he was eavesdropping, he probably didn't have a chance to get a thing. "I'm sure you're right. It is probably nothing special. But… thanks for calling anyway." Voice all business.

Missouri seemed to understand that she couldn't speak. Bela almost saw her smile because when she spoke again her voice was much softer and there was a great deal of appreciation. "_I've got news by the way_," she said.

"Really?" Bela's fingers clenched the receiver so tight that her knuckles went white. The time seemed to stop.

"_That book, with spells. I kept asking and there was one track_." Hopeful, just like Sam. "_It wasn't that easy but… The one named Meredith Charleston used to have it in her home library._" There was reprimand, too, as though Missouri knew what the book was used for and didn't approve of it. "_I'm sure you know what to make of it._"

The name struck Bela and practically made her blood run cold. And some odd suspicion started to form in her head. She couldn't wrap her mind around it yet but for some reason her stomach started flopping violently as though an answer was lying right on the surface and all she needed to do was reach her hand and grab it. Bela swallowed uncomfortably.

"Hey, are you coming?" Dean called out from the kitchen and when she turned she saw him serving their plates and retreating to get some orange juice from the fridge and grab a pack of napkins.

Obviously, Missouri heard a familiar voice, too. She cleared her throat and to Bela it looked like she was fighting a chuckle. "_Well, that is all I wanted to say, dear. Thank you for you time._" And she hung up after that without waiting for Bela's goodbye.

"Thank you for your call." She said automatically.

Smile back on her face as if it really was a business call and not a very interesting one, too, Bela came up to the counter again. Observed the results of almost forty minutes of Dean's efforts and had to admit that it looked edible enough to dare to try it. A helping of omelet, several stripes of roasted bacon were accompanied by a cheese toast, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. It looked… well, it looked so nice that it turned something inside of her and made Bela feel warm all over simply because it was new and unexpected and… And no one ever cared enough to think about such things.

Dean came back with forks and knives and mounted himself onto the tall stool. Gave her yet another smile and somewhat expectant glance looking oddly nervous, and Bela realized if a little belatedly that he was probably waiting for some kind of reaction from her.

"It looks delicious, Dean, really," she told him honestly as she took her seat across from him. Noticed that the line of his shoulders relaxed immediately and decided to check her guess. "Mm, I never asked before but I'm curious…" trying to sound matter-of-factly and not really interested as if she simply wanted to keep the conversation flowing. "How did your hunting in the Charlestons' mansion go? Any luck?"

"Uh-huh," he grumbled around his mouthful of eggs and swallowed visibly before grinning at her widely. "Had to burn it though."

"Burn what?" She asked in faint voice feeling sick and dizzy all of a sudden, knowing the answer before he said it out loud.

"The house," Dean explained on a shrug. "When you, you know, left," his voice dropped a little and he broke eye contact, "I called Sam. We tried to find the bodies, checked the walls and, well, lots of other places but found nothing. And when the bloody bastards nearly killed us, twice, we decided to burn down the whole place. You said they were going to take it down anyway, so I see no big deal." Their eyes met again as Dean went on. "We spread like a whole ton of rock salt all over the damned house and set it on fire. Bet, they blamed it on problems with wiring, or kids. Believe me, I'm really sorry for these auction guys but we did it for their safety." He smiled then. "You shoulda seen it, Bela. Swear to God, the biggest friggin' torch I ever saw in my entire life."

"Together with the library?" She asked weakly.

"What?" Dean blinked, puzzled.

"You… you burned it down together with the whole library?"

He considered her words for a moment, frowning. "We didn't try to save any rare editions, if that's what you're asking. Although I bet Sam woulda liked to do that," he smirked.

Bela's fingers unclenched around the receiver that she was still holding in her hand and it fell down to the floor and smashed against it, pieces of plastic scattering all around. Couldn't believe that the fucking vision was not _nothing_.

Fire. Just like Missouri said.

"Bela?"

***

But she never gave up. Never lost hope even for one goddamned minute. She kept asking here and there, and looking, and bribing, and blackmailing, and using all her charms to get whatever answers she wanted to get. Yet, it never was anything that she really needed – no one could tell Bela how to break crossroads deal. Everyone kept saying one and the same thing, the one that she'd heard a million times before – it was unbreakable. And wasn't it ironic? No money could buy her the only thing she wanted to get most. But she believed. Believed. Until…

One morning Bela woke up some time around dawn and lay motionless for a very long time listening to Dean's deep breathing; his hand was lying possessively on her waist, warm and heavy. After a while she slipped from under the covers doing her best not to disturb him. She found Dean's flannel bottom-up shirt, the one that she knew was his favorite and pulled it on; had to roll up the sleeves because they were too long for her. The shirt was soft and felt nice to her skin. And it smelled just like Dean giving Bela a feeling that he was all around her, similarly soft and warm and like a part of her that she couldn't even imagine living without.

She went downstairs to fetch herself a cup of coffee having no better idea of what to occupy herself with, her legs and arms moving automatically, mind blank. Bela waited for the coffee to brew staring out the kitchen window and breathing in thick bitter smell that was filling the air. When the coffee machine beeped she poured black liquid into a mug and climbed onto one of tall stools around her kitchen island, her back to the living room. She couldn't believe that this was it. That this was the end. Just couldn't.

The mug between her palms was hot and it felt almost burning to her skin, but Bela barely noticed it. Absently, she hoped that it would help her to get warm, the way it normally did, but for some reason it seemed to work the other way around. She started to shiver slightly as if it was a piece of ice she was holding. Or maybe it was coming from inside.

Bela had no idea how long she was sitting like that – not long but it felt like eternity – and she didn't turn around when Dean came up to her from behind. His footsteps were soft and soundless on the floor but somehow she could simply feel him whenever he was close, as if he was a radio station she was attuned to.

Dean came around her, carefully took the mug with long forgotten and never touched coffee from her hands and put it aside; gave a twist to her stool practically leaving Bela no other choice but to face him.

"Hey."

"Dean…"

"Gotta say you look nice in that," he commented with appreciation taking in her appearance. "Although I wouldn't mind getting my attire back, y'know."

With the darts of early sunlight tangled in her hair she looked like an angel to him; her big green eyes concerned and frightened.

He frowned when she didn't even smile to his words. "Bela, what's wrong?" She shook her head, eyes never looking away from him, and he wasn't _that_ dumb not to see what exactly was wrong. "Oh, crap." Dean pulled her closed and wrapped his arms around her. " It's okay, I'm here," he whispered; his lips grazed the top of her head.

_I'm here_, echoed in her head, and to Bela it sounded like the cruelest taunt. God, she couldn't even think properly.

She buried her face into his chest and squeezed her eyes shut waiting for the tears to come. But they never did. Oddly, she felt kind of numb. Unbelieving. It was like she'd been watching the whole situation from aside without being a part of it. How could death be real when his heartbeat was so strong and proud against her chest? How could anything bad exist when she was sitting in her kitchen dressed in Dean's shirt, with Dean right there with her, his arms holding her so tight like he would never let go and his fingers toying mindlessly with her hair?

Bela opened her eyes and pulled back to look him in the face. His hair were rumpled from sleep, she noted, and he needed to shave but regardless of this all Dean Winchester was still Dean Winchester, the one who mattered most.

Her gaze traveled around his face trying to memorize every detail from straight lines of his brows and the curve of his hairline to a constantly curious expression of his eyes to those cute dimples on his cheeks. The way she wanted to remember him always. Recalled the way he looked when he was asleep to make the picture full and this somewhat wondering expression he had all those times when she caught him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, and felt like something was slowly dying inside of her.

Dean's lips curved into a small half-smile. He ran his fingers through her hair brushing the whole heavy mass back.

"You're beautiful," he told her in a low voice that made her insides twist.

For a long moment Bela simply watched him not sure what to make out of his worlds and fighting a feeling that it was a masked goodbye. The way he looked at her with that warmth in his eyes, the way he touched her like she was something precious, it all screamed about it.

Throat clogging, Bela swallowed uneasily before slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder once again. She wanted to say so much… _before_, but all of a sudden all words were gone out of her mind leaving it empty, what with Dean's breath tickling the skin of her head. It was almost physically painful to look out the window and at the sunrise. She hated it, Bela thought. Hated it with all her heart and soul; for its beauty and for that it was brining his last hour closer.

The time was nearing 7 in the morning.

Dean Winchester had less than two days left.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**

Thanks a lot for reading. Please comment if you feel like it.


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